Mjolnir

small town urban fantasy; vampires, witches, werewolves.

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Bump! We're still looking for some writers to make our small town a little more lively :) feel free to message @Sleepy Tani or @Mjolnir with any questions!

small town urban fantasy; vampires, witches, werewolves.

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looking to add 2-3 more writers

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We've recently felt like the small town of Pine Ridge could use some more residents to stir the pot! We'd love to add a couple more writers and a handful of characters to our RP. Things are still very much in there infancy with plenty of opportunities for people to join in before the big Halloween festival!

If you are interested in joining, feel free to DM @Sleepy Tani with any questions or applications. I am also available to help with any brainstorming or if you'd like to whip up some history with my characters, I love adding some juicy backstory!

We look forward to the what you'll bring to the story!

Descendants

^{#a8f9ff .....|..... prism ....|..... outfit ............... #375a87 ....|..... nightinggale ....|..... outfit ............... rooftop garden}

Imogen stepped out onto the roof with a sigh, as if she hadn’t been able to properly breathe and take in air until that moment. The meeting was suffocating. Everything unfolded so quickly that neither she, nor June could scoop it back up and make it whole again, and her brother certainly didn’t help any. Then Ronnie and Luke… and Rune… She pressed her hands to her face, groaning into her palms as she aggressively rubbed her eyes like maybe it was all just a terrible fucking dream. If she was lucky, she’d rub hard enough that when she opened her eyes she’d be in bed with Magni’s arms around her, and the day would start over once again, fresh and untainted. But when her hands fell and the light poured through her eyelashes, nothing had changed, and she still stood just beyond the lift doors, sharp breeze whipping past her.

Her gaze drifted across the rooftop garden having never actually set foot up there during her time at the Academy. It was far more than a little patio or seating area like she had expected. Potted plants of all shapes and sizes covered the roof with the meticulous sort of order that only an architect could have. Dense green shrubbery and rich autumn blooms covered the area from one side to the other, no room spared save for the concrete tile walkways, assorted seating, and the occasional focal points, like the large pergola and a long, narrow koi pond that trickled with a small fountain in the center. Then off to one side—as Alfred had promised—waited everything she requested: a table, two chairs, place settings for two, a food cart, and more candles than she knew what to do with.

Imogen kicked off her heels unceremoniously, leaving them on the ground wherever they landed near the elevator. Her hand slipped into her pocket, pulling out a small elastic, and started to tie back her long blonde hair as she crossed the terrace. She stopped just long enough beside the table to rest her hands on her hips when her phone dinged and vibrated in her back pocket. As she pulled it out, the screen illuminated with a notification that June must have set up without her knowing. She clicked it and was immediately tapped into a live feed of a security camera in the conference room just in time to see Luke throw Tobias across the room into a pile of destroyed furniture. She watched, frozen in shock as the fight unfolded, half tempted to take the lift back down to try and break it up, for Tobias’s sake. Bits and pieces of the conversation and hurled insults were picked up by the microphone, but not enough to piece together proper sentences.

Subconsciously her feet started carrying her back toward the elevator, but before she was able to press the button Luke was thrown through the window. She heard the crash a fraction of a second from over the side of the tower before it echoed in the security feed. Imogen ran to the side of the terrace and tightly gripped the glass railing as she leaned over the edge to look down at the pool below. Her blonde ponytail whipped violently in the wind as she watched the water far below settle, and beneath it, down in the dark blue depths of the deep end was Luke. She should have panicked, should have jumped over the railing in diamond form and pulled him out… But for the first time in her life, Imogen didn’t care. She just sort of watched, mesmerized in sadness and disappointment at the man she used to know, and what he had become.

I didn’t last long. Soon enough Magni jumped into the water and ripped Luke free before he could drown. He was a better person than she ever hoped to be… perhaps that was the balance. Imogen didn’t care to watch further. She pushed off the railing, standing upright, and wandered her way back over to the various things that needed her attention, choosing to do her best to forget all about Luke, Ronnie, and her brother for the rest of the day if she could help it.

Theo’s agreement had helped more than June wanted to admit. Somewhere between his awkward promises to help and his earnest willingness to throw himself into yet another one of her spiraling plans, some of the sharpness in her chest had eased. Not enough to fix it. Not enough to stop the exhaustion pressing at her shoulders or the image of Tobias hurling Luke through a window from replaying itself every time she blinked, but enough to keep her from feeling like the whole day had been one long collapse. Still, when she passed the conference room on her way out and caught sight of the shattered glass scattered like ice across the floor, of the dark stains left behind where blood had soaked into carpet and tile, something in her chest tightened again. The room looked like a battlefield pretending to be an office, and June suddenly found she had no desire to stand there and think about what that meant for the team they were trying so desperately to stitch together.

So she had detoured to Phil’s office, muttered a halfhearted apology to the empty room, and stolen a bottle of liquor expensive enough that even the glass felt heavy and important in her hand.

The elevator hummed quietly as it carried her upward. June leaned back against the wall with the bottle tucked beneath her arm, eyes half-lidded as she stared at the numbers climbing one by one. The whole day felt lodged beneath her skin, splinters of it catching every time she tried to breathe around it: Bellamy’s trembling voice, Jim’s words, Imogen shrinking away from her, Luke grinning like he was born with rot somewhere beneath his ribs. By the time the elevator doors slid open, she wanted only fresh air and silence. Instead, music poured into the space before her. Loud music. Cheerful music. The kind of music that had no business existing after the catastrophe they had all just survived.

June stepped out and stopped.

The rooftop garden glowed beneath late afternoon light, candles flickering in scattered constellations across tables and pathways while flowers shifted gently beneath the breeze. At the center of it all was Imogen, blonde hair tied back and swaying with her movements as she danced around the patio with complete disregard for dignity, singing along beneath her breath while placing candle after candle into careful little arrangements. For a second June simply stared at her, caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer.

She thought briefly about backing into the elevator and pretending she had never come up here at all. Let Imogen have this. Let her breathe. Let her grieve and unravel and gather herself back together in whatever strange way made sense to her. But then June remembered a pale hand sliding across a conference table toward her, remembered blue eyes and a quiet June, I— cut short before the words ever had the chance to exist. The urge to retreat loosened instantly. Looking back on it later, she realized she had never really intended to leave.

She crossed the rooftop without announcing herself, heels quiet against the stone pathways as music and candlelight wrapped around her. Imogen was still moving when June reached her, still caught up in song and rhythm and distraction, and June didn’t give her time to notice. One arm slid around her waist, the other around her shoulders, and she folded herself against her friend without warning, pressing her face into the side of her shoulder with a tired little sound she would later deny making. The bottle of liquor hung forgotten from her fingers while she held on tighter than she usually would have dared, because the day had scraped something raw out of both of them and June suddenly felt too tired to pretend she wasn’t reaching too.

Imogen had shut her mind off the minute the music started. She didn’t need people’s thoughts creeping into her mind when she was very specifically trying to ignore everything that happened, the sexual assault on Magni, the arguements, the fights, her brother’s thinly veiled prejudice… all of it. She had forgotten how good she had gotten at drowning the noises out, enough so that when arms curled around her she immediately shifted to diamond, almost like a defense mechanism or trauma response. But when she looked over and saw it was June who curled herself around her, she sighed softly and immediately returned to normal. Imogen slowly wrapped one arm around her shoulders, while her other hand gently stroked her black hair in a soft, steady rhythm.

She held her there, unmoving and unspeaking for a handful of minutes before pulling her head back just enough to look down at June with a tired, weary smile that didn’t quite reach her heavy blue eyes. "You ok?" she asked quietly.

June stayed tucked against her for those few quiet moments, eyes closed while Imogen’s fingers moved through her hair in slow, grounding strokes that reminded her painfully of being younger, smaller, safer. The music drifted around them alongside the sharp wind, bass humming softly beneath the fountain’s trickling water and the flicker of candle flames. When Imogen finally pulled back enough to look at her, June squinted up at her like the question itself was offensive. "Am I okay?" she echoed, incredulous and exhausted all at once, before immediately shaking her head. "Are you okay?" The concern landed harder than the sarcasm beneath it, and June stepped back just enough to properly look at her.

Imogen rolled her eyes while brushing loose strands of hair that had fallen from the ponytail back out of her face. She scoffed and exhaled softly though her nose. "I have to be," she offered with a small shrug.

June’s free hand rose instinctively, fingers catching gently beneath Imogen’s chin so she could turn her face first one way, then the other beneath the rooftop lights as if inspecting for damage that hadn’t yet surfaced. Her brows furrowed deeper the longer she looked at her. The pale strain beneath Imogen’s eyes, the tension she wore in her shoulders even now, the careful way she was holding herself together, it all sat ugly in June’s chest. "All things considered, your day was significantly worse than mine," she muttered, voice dry with fatigue before her mouth twitched faintly at one corner. "We could kill him and hide the body, you know." The offer came lightly, almost conversational, but there was enough sincerity buried underneath it to make the joke land somewhere dangerous.

The blonde didn’t argue or fight as her head was turned and examined, like every burden the day had dropped upon her shoulders added its own bruise or scar that June was able to study. Imogen knew there was nothing there, but she also didn’t try to hide the exhaustion and fatigue that weighed down the light that usually lived behind her eyes. Her shoulders sagged, losing some of its tension as she snorted out a laugh. And for a brief moment she considered it, because she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered killing Luke that morning. "Tempting," she mused with a weak smile. "But I couldn’t do that to Magni… He’s still conflicted and the last thing I want to do is hurt him." Her lips pulled a little tighter as her shoulders raised in a weak shrug.

"I’m more trying to figure out what I ever saw in that man." Imogen’s face actually twisted in disgust, nose scrunching and lip curling like the thought of it made her sick. "Like… I used to love him. I gave him my virginity for fuck’s sake." She shook her head like the mere thought of Luke touching her, let alone having sex, was the worst thing she could possibly imagine.

June released Imogen’s face as an expression tightened faintly at the reminder, a brief grimace crossing her face before she could smooth it away. She remembered that period of Imogen’s life in flashes more than specifics. Back then June hadn’t known Imogen the way she did now, hadn’t understood the shape of her heart well enough to realize how deeply she loved when she finally let herself. Seeing the disgust on her face now made something ache quietly in June’s chest. "People change," she said softly, looking at her carefully, hoping she would actually let the words land instead of brushing them aside like everything else that hurt. "It doesn’t say anything about you for who you used to love." Her gaze drifted briefly toward the horizon before returning to Imogen, darker now with thought. "Something’s wrong with him. I don’t know what, but he’s nothing like what Thomas used to talk about."

"I should have just dated your brother," Imogen teased softly, not ignoring June’s comment but gently redirecting it in a more tolerable lane that didn’t weigh on either of them so heavily. "Could you imagine how different things would be?" Her head tilted to the side, eyes squinting slightly. "Maybe not… It’d get real weird once you and Jim started dating," she added with a weak laugh.

June let out a soft laugh at that, the sound catching somewhere between genuine amusement and exhaustion as she tipped her head back slightly toward the sky. "He talked about you all the time," she admitted, warmth threading through the words before the smile on her mouth turned fragile around the edges. Thomas had filled entire car rides with stories about Imogen, things she’d said, arguments they’d had, the way she laughed when she forgot to hold herself together properly. June blinked hard against the sudden sting in her eyes, but grief still rose swift and merciless in her chest, dragging old memories behind it.

Thomas teaching her how to throw a proper punch in the cave, Thomas sneaking into her room during thunderstorms when she was little, Thomas standing between her and Bruce whenever she felt too small beneath the weight of expectation. Her first word had been his name. He had been her safest place for so long that losing him still felt impossible some days, like her mind kept waiting for him to walk through a doorway and fix everything simply by existing. "I really miss him," she whispered at last, the confession barely louder than the wind sweeping across the rooftop, her knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle as though holding onto it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Imogen sighed softly, her gaze falling to her bare toes beneath the hem of her pants as she ran her fingers along her forehead. While there was a piece of her that was equal parts gladdened… and saddened at knowing Thomas spoke of her fondly, she mostly felt bad for bringing him up in the first place. "I’m sorry," she whispered, looking up from beneath blonde bangs that fluttered in the wind. "I was… trying to lighten the mood and failing desperately," she confessed with a strained laugh.

June pulled her into one more brief, tight squeeze, pressing their shoulders together for a heartbeat longer than necessary before finally stepping back fully. The late afternoon air rushed cool against the warmth left behind between them. "You’re fine, I’m sorry," she said, softer now, glancing around at the candles and carefully arranged rooftop setup with the faintest grimace of realization. "I forgot you’d be up here." She lifted the bottle in her hand and gave it a small shake, amber liquid sloshing heavily against crystal glass. "I was coming up here to cope my own way."

Imogen was pulled into another hug and remained there for however long June needed, not letting herself focus on how much she needed the comfort, if only to keep herself from breaking down entirely. "You’re fine," she offered as she reached for more candles that rested along the table. "It’s silly, but—" she rapped her fingers along the ivory wax before continuing. "After using Cerebro last night, I was so drained. I couldn’t even walk. Magni…" A soft smile pulled at the corner of her mouth subconsciously, just the thought of him or the sound of his name on her lips bringing some warmth to her otherwise miserable day. "He carried me, drew me a bath, and just… held me."

She paused for a second, shook her head, and waved it off before she got lost recounting things that June likely didn’t care to hear. "Anyway, we spent most of the night talking and I told him I wanted to give him a real midgardian date." Imogen waved her hands toward everything around her that she had spent who knows how long setting up. "A little over the top, but…" She shrugged with a quiet, guilty laugh. "Given how the world is falling apart around us, I just wanted something nice." Her bare feet softly padded along the concrete tiles as she carried the candles across the small clearing and set them alongside a cluster of others. "I know Jim would say it’s stupid, and that I should be helping, and not worrying about dating… But even when I helped he made it worth less than nothing, so what the fuck do I care about what he thinks?"

June loosened her hold on Imogen enough to step back, fingers curling around the neck of the bottle as she twisted the cap free with a soft crack. The rooftop air carried the smell of candle wax and flowers and the faint salt of the water below, but the liquor cut through all of it the second she took a long drink. Sweetness rolled across her tongue first, warm almond and dark cherry with something richer beneath it that lingered pleasantly at the back of her throat. She lowered the bottle slowly, studying the label with narrowed eyes as though personally offended by how much she liked it. "Huh," she mumbled, genuine surprise threading through her tired voice. "Phil has good taste."

The humor faded as her attention drifted back toward Imogen and the heavier shape sitting beneath the conversation. June watched her, bottle hanging loosely from her fingers while candlelight flickered gold across the sharp line of her cheekbones. "I’d apologize for him," she said quietly, the words slower now, harder to place correctly, "But I know it wouldn’t mean anything because I’m not him." Her mouth tightened faintly at one corner, irritation flashing hot and quick beneath her skin as she replayed the meeting in fragments. "I… I don’t really know how I feel right now. What he said was…" She blew a sharp breath through her nose and shook her head once, dark hair shifting against her shoulders. "Wrong. I don’t understand him sometimes. How can someone be that smart and still be so—" Her free hand cut vaguely through the air, frustrated and unfinished, like language itself had failed her patience.

"It’s not your job to apologize for him. You’re not his keeper and neither am I," Imogen replied with the sort of acceptance that grew over years of growing up alongside him and only further concreted itself over the last couple weeks. "He…" She paused, drawing in a breath and exhaling it deeply through her nose. "I don’t know. I don’t claim to understand him. He doesn’t let me in." She walked back across the cool stone, stopping beside the table as she looked down at the stacked dishes. "You know him better than I do." Hell, at that point June probably knew both of them better than they knew each other. The reality of that knocked the wind from her lungs and cut deep enough that her hand instinctually pressed against her stomach to try and stem the ache.

The music drifted softly across the rooftop again while Imogen moved among the candles, and June watched her for a moment with something gentler settling over her expression. Candlelight warmed the blonde edges of Imogen’s hair. "I don’t know…screw what Jim would think, though" June said at last, quieter now, sincerity grounding every word. "I love this." Her gaze swept over the rooftop garden, and for the first time all day something in her chest loosened instead of tightening. "We all need something worth fighting for, don’t we?" The question came softer than she intended, her focus slipping briefly somewhere far beyond the rooftop itself, toward absent fathers and broken teams and the terrifying possibility that love might be the only thing tethering any of them together anymore.

When she looked back at Imogen, her eyes shone faintly in the candlelight, wet around the edges but steady. "I’m really happy for you," she admitted, voice warm with an honesty she rarely offered so openly. "You deserve someone like Magni. Someone who looks at you like you light up his whole world." The words lingered between them while June turned her head toward the horizon again, watching where the ocean melted seamlessly into the darkening horizon. For a long moment she simply stood there with the bottle in hand and the wind tugging at her clothes, looking painfully young beneath the weight she carried, as though she was trying very hard to remember what hope was supposed to feel like.

Imogen slowly looked back at June over her shoulder. Tears dammed against her lashes, but a smile still curved warm and grateful even through the exhaustion and pain. She ran the tips of her fingers along the tablecloth before lightly knocking her knuckles against the table. Her gaze lifted to the sky for a moment, catching on the white wisps of clouds, watching as they moved and morphed. The question came quickly and nagged at the edges of her mind. There was a part of her that knew she shouldn’t ask, and there was also another part of her that wished she could repay the compliment, but the truth was she didn’t know a thing about June and Jim's relationship. She swallowed, her throat bobbing with the weight of the words that hung off the tip of her tongue.

"Does Jim look at you like you’re the center of his world?" she asked, barely above a whisper, as her gaze fell slowly until it settled on June.

June took in a sharp breath at the question and held it there until her lungs ached around it. The wind moved cold against her face while the ocean glittered below them, distant and indifferent, and for a moment she simply stared out toward the ocean without seeing any of it clearly. Then she lifted the bottle and took a long pull from it, letting the sweet burn settle warmly down her throat and soften the sharper corners of her thoughts. The liquor tasted faintly of almond and dark fruit, rich enough to linger on her tongue while she searched for an answer she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear out loud.

"I..." Her voice faltered and she frowned faintly at the horizon, forcing her fingers to loosen where they had tightened too hard around the glass. "I’m not sure." The admission came slowly, each word tested carefully before she allowed it to exist. "He has feelings for me. He cares. But I don’t think..." She stopped, swallowing hard before trying again. "I don’t think I’ll ever be to Jim what he is to me."

Her pointer finger began tapping softly against the bottle’s neck, steady and rhythmic, the habit surfacing automatically whenever her mind drifted too deep into itself. "I’ve lo—liked Jim for a long time," she admitted quietly, catching on the word like speaking it too plainly might make it dangerous. "Since we were kids, I think. I never thought he felt the same until..." A faint warmth touched her face despite herself, softened by the memory of quiet confessions in dim light and awkward honesty shared beneath blankets and exhaustion.

"We had a good talk last night. Just a talk, but..." Her mouth curved faintly around the memory before the expression faded back into thoughtfulness. The breeze swept cool salt across the rooftop, clean and sharp compared to Gotham’s stale rain-soaked air, and suddenly she missed her mother with an ache so sudden it hollowed her chest. She still wasn’t answering her calls, she supposed they would see each other at the funeral instead.

June leaned her hip harder against the table and tipped the bottle slightly in her hands while she tried to untangle thoughts that had lived knotted inside her for years. "He’s so complicated," she murmured, gaze drifting downward toward the candlelight flickering across the stone beneath their feet. "The mission comes first. It has to for him. Bringing back our dads is the only thing keeping him upright right now, and everything else..." She shook her head faintly, searching for the right shape of it.

"Everything else feels like a complication he can barely process." There was no bitterness in the words, only tired understanding. "It’s like he’s stuck in fight-or-flight and doesn’t even realize he’s been there so long it became normal." Finally she looked back toward Imogen, and there was something fragile in her expression now, something worn thin from carrying hope too carefully for too many years. "It’s always been him," she whispered, one shoulder lifting in a helpless little shrug. "Even when I thought he didn’t... even if he changes his mind someday, even if this doesn’t work, for me it was always him."

The confession settled heavily into the wind between them. June stared out toward the sky again, eyes glassy beneath the rooftop lights. "I don’t know if he understands what love actually is," she said softly. "To him everything has rules and systems and outcomes. Equations. Contracts." A tired, exasperated smile tugged briefly at her mouth as she shook her head. "But love isn’t like that." Her voice softened further, worn smooth by honesty. "It’s the oxygen in the air. The warmth of sunlight after being cold too long. It’s the place your heart keeps returning to no matter how far away you run." She tightened her grip on the bottle once more before letting out a slow breath that trembled faintly at the edges. "I don’t know if he’s capable of loving like that," she admitted. "But for him... I’m willing to find out."

Imogen listened intently, arms lightly crossed over her chest, nodding along but never interrupting. When June finished, she inhaled a slow, deep breath while trying to parse her own thoughts and how to put them into words. "I understand how the… crush—love—thing kind of sinks its claws in." She shrugged her shoulders, ponytail slipping off her shoulder with the gesture. "I liked Magni since we were at the Academy together, back when he didn’t know who I was." She sighed softly through her nose. "I… eventually moved on with Luke—or maybe settled is a better word. Then the Academy was closed and a decade had passed. Out of sight, out of mind I guess." Her weight shifted as her hip leaned against the edge of the table. "Then all of a sudden the fucker lands on the lawn and I’m right back where I was ten years ago."

A quiet laugh rubbled in her chest as she crossed her right foot over her left. "The fact that he didn’t remember me should have probably been a huge glaring red flag…" Imogen’s face scrunched slightly as she shook her head. "But our emotions have a funny way of rose tinting the world and we ignore things we probably shouldn’t. I was lucky that it worked out in my benefit… so far."

It was only then that her eyes lifted from the ground and finally settled on June’s gaze. "As a sister," Imogen continued, her words falling slow and measured because matters of the heart had to be handled with care, even when trying to offer clarity. "I am grateful that someone like you cares for my brother… Someone who is patient and loves him despite his faults… and there are many," she added with an exasperated sigh. Then her head slowly lulled to the other side as if she was weighing two sides of the same coin. "And as your friend, I just don’t want you to lose yourself in the process. It’s early and Jim is… emotionally stunted. I do understand that it will take time for him to reach your level. But you also owe it to yourself not to wait forever as well."

There was a long pause as Imogen’s attention slowly drifted out toward the ocean and the soft golden glow of the sun that tinged the sky amber. Then her brows creased before her gaze snapped back to June. "And for fuck’s sake communicate, because you know he won’t."

June listened quietly, the bottle hanging loosely from her fingers while the wind swept strands of dark hair across her cheek. Her gaze wandered between Imogen and the horizon, following the slow rhythm of waves rolling toward the shore far below the tower. There was comfort in listening for once, in letting someone else's experience fill the silence instead of her own worries. When Imogen reached the end of her advice and punctuated it with that final exasperated command, June barked out a genuine laugh, the sound bright and startled enough to catch even her by surprise.

"I know," she admitted, grinning despite herself as she shook her head. "Trust me, I know." The smile lingered for another moment before softening into something quieter. "I promise... if anything doesn't work out, I'll find a way to let go." Her eyes drifted back toward the ocean as she said it, watching sunlight scatter across the water in fractured bands of gold. The words felt honest when she spoke them, even if they settled heavily in her chest. Somewhere beneath all the uncertainty, beneath the fear and confusion and years of wanting, there was still a small, stubborn hope that one day she might fit into Jim's life as naturally as Magni fit into Imogen's. She imagined reaching for him without second-guessing herself, imagined him looking at her with the same certainty Magni carried whenever his gaze found Imogen, and the thought ached in that tender place where hope and grief often shared the same roots.

The silence that followed sat comfortably between them, carried by music and wind and the distant crash of surf against the beach. June took another small drink before lowering the bottle and turning her attention fully back to her friend. The question had been circling her thoughts since the meeting ended, heavy enough that she could no longer ignore it. "Are you okay with all this Luke bullshit? I mean, I know you’re not, but…" she asked quietly. Her expression tightened as she watched Imogen, searching for cracks beneath the composure she wore so well. "If something doesn't change with him, we..." The words stalled. She worried at her bottom lip for a moment, staring down into the amber liquid sloshing gently inside the bottle while she searched for language precise enough to carry the weight of what she meant. The pause stretched out beneath the evening sky before she finally lifted her eyes again. "Imogen, I'm a lot like my dad, especially right now."

June shifted her weight against the table, fingers tightening briefly around the glass neck before relaxing again. The rooftop garden glowed softly around them, candles flickering in little pools of gold that illuminated flowers and stone pathways alike. "I don't trust Luke," she said plainly. "Or Ronnie, for that matter." Her voice remained calm, but conviction sat firmly beneath every syllable. "They're both so... disruptive." It was the gentlest description she could manage for people who seemed to leave damage in their wake wherever they went. June looked back out toward the water for a second before returning her gaze to Imogen.

"I'm going to come up with contingency plans. Just in case." The admission came without apology. She searched Imogen's face carefully then, hoping the other woman would understand the place it came from—not cruelty, not punishment, but fear. Fear of losing more people. Fear of being caught unprepared again. Fear of standing helplessly in the aftermath of another disaster and realizing she had seen the signs and done nothing. "I need to know that if something goes wrong, we're not relying on luck to survive it. I… feel like I have to, I have to do what my dad would do if he was here, even if it’s not what I want because I know it’s right."

Imogen sighed, her gaze fixed on her bare toes that peeked out from beneath the hem of her pants. "I used to trust Luke," she commented quietly. "But after the fight with Tobias, and Magni..." her voice cracked then trailed off before she could finish her thought. The muffled popping of knuckles filled the silence as her hands flex tightly where they were pinned beneath her arms. "I don’t trust him anymore," she clarified as if it needed to be said out loud for herself as much as June. "I could have killed him. Might have if Magni wasn’t watching… Or Luke’s bullshit fucking lie."

She sucked in a sharp breath and ran her hands down her face before pushing off the table. Unable to stand still anymore, Imogen slowly started pacing back and forth across the small garden clearing. "I don’t know if we have the time or luxury for trust," she confessed beneath her breath, the words landing so softly that one gust of wind might have carried them away. "We could be all that’s left and if we start isolating ourselves further… We might as well just shoot ourselves in the feet." She hated admitting it, but they were also past the point of desperation. As far as they were all aware this was it. The final stand. The final group of heroes trying to make a difference before their kind was snuffed from existence. It wasn't an uneasy alliance, one that would likely cause more pain before finding any solutions… But what choice did they have?

"Luke has ties with the I.H.A. and Ronnie… Well, I don’t actually know what she offers… A distraction for Luke?" Imogen mused with an exhausted laugh, her pacing slowing as she reached the railing that overlooked the ocean. She leaned forward, resting her forearms against the glass while cupping her hands together. "They could be moles or they could be assholes with giant fucking chips on their shoulders." She shrugged her shoulders as her gaze slowly lifted to look up at the golden clouds overhead. "Perhaps my grief and anger have made me insensitive, but I almost want to keep them around because they’re bodies… They make us look larger in number, but in the end they’re just cannon fodder… expendable."

June felt some of the tension drain from her shoulders as Imogen spoke. The admission settled warmly in a place that had been knotted tight all day, easing a guilt she had not realized she was carrying. She was not the only one watching Luke and Ronnie with growing suspicion. She was not the only one cataloging every disruption, every argument, every fracture they left behind. The bottle hung loosely from her fingers now, the glass cool against her palm as the ocean wind tugged at the loose strands of dark hair around her face.

"Leila Barton texted me this morning," she offered after a moment, her gaze drifting from the ocean back toward Imogen. She remembered hearing stories from Thomas over the years, stories about Academy classes and training exercises and late nights spent studying. Leila and Imogen had both appeared often enough in those stories, though rarely together. June had never been entirely sure how close they were, only that they had known each other once upon a time, back before the world had started falling apart around all of them. "I figured you'd probably want to know."

Her thumb traced the neck of the bottle as she looked back toward the water. "She got our message, but she's... she's not taking her dad going missing very well." The words came quieter this time. June knew that particular kind of grief intimately, the frantic need to keep moving before the pain had a chance to catch up. "She moved her family to a different safe house and left Iowa for… somewhere else, she was stingy on the details. Apparently she's taking up the mantle of Ronin instead of Hawkeye."

June grimaced and lowered her eyes to the liquor. Her fingers tightened until her knuckles whitened around the glass. "She said she has a lead on something, but..." The sentence trailed away beneath the wind moving through the rooftop garden. "She didn't sound good. Focused, determined, but not good." The distinction mattered. June had spent enough sleepless nights staring at ceilings to recognize someone holding themselves together through sheer force of will.

For several seconds she watched sunlight fracture across the ocean's surface. Gold scattered across the waves and vanished into the horizon. "She said she'd be in touch," she continued quietly. "She hasn't heard anything from Widow or the rest of her family either, so it isn't exactly the best news." She swallowed around the ache gathering in her throat before finally looking back toward Imogen. "But she's alive. We know that much."

Imogen nodded her head slowly. "That’s—that’s good," she replied softly. One more person was… good, better than she could hope. Of course, the best news would have been knowing she was coming to the Academy. Anyone out on their own was at risk and Iowa wasn’t close. Even if she managed to send them a distress call, there was no way they could get there in time to help her. Hopefully with time, she would come around. While she and Leila were never particularly close, it still brought some relief to know that she was alive and safe… Even if only for the time being.

"When I was in Cerebro," Imogen started, slowly turning around to face June as leaned back against the railing. "Most of the mutants I saw were on Krakoa or Genosha… But there were some small dots scattered around." Her hands fell to rest against the glass on either side of her, fingers lightly strumming against the cool surface. "There aren’t many and they’re all over the world, but—" her shoulders raised in a tired shrug, "—I was thinking about going back in and telling them to come here… Or go to Krakoa. Just get somewhere safe."

She inhaled deeply, her head falling slightly as the wind blew loose blonde hairs across her face. Her hands lifted from the railing, pressing one thumb into her other palm, and running it along the skin in a slow, self-soothing rhythm. "It scares me… and hurts," Imogen admitted beneath her breath, unable to look up. "But I think I need to try." She nodded her head slowly, as if trying to convince herself more than get approval or reassurances from June. "I shouldn’t be in as long as I was last night, so I think I’ll be ok… but I haven’t told Magni. He’ll worry," she confessed. The conflict of keeping something from him was evident in the heaviness of her expression and the way she couldn’t lift her gaze higher than June’s feet. She would tell Magni immediately after… but that didn’t make it any easier.

June listened quietly, her gaze drifting from the horizon to settle fully on Imogen. The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the railing, waves rolling toward shore in slow silver bands beneath the afternoon sun. Salt lingered on the breeze and the sweetness of the liquor still coated the back of her tongue, warm and almond-rich each time she swallowed. She watched the way Imogen rubbed at her palms, the way her shoulders carried the memory of exhaustion even while she spoke about doing it all over again, and something deep in June's chest tightened with a mixture of admiration and grief.

"You might be the bravest out of all of us," she said softly. Her eyes slipped away then, following a gull wheeling above the water as she turned the thought over once more before offering it aloud. "I mean that." The words carried weight because they came from a place deeper than friendship. They came from years spent learning how to read people beneath masks and smiles and practiced confidence. "It scares you, it hurts, and you still..." She shook her head, a small smile touching her mouth as she looked back toward Imogen. "You'll still do it anyway if it means helping even one person."

The bottle shifted lightly in her hand as she thought over her words. Wind tugged at the dark strands of hair around her face and carried the distant sound of surf upward from the beach below. "You really are a hero, Imogen." There was no teasing hidden in the statement, no attempt to make her feel better. June said it with the same certainty she might have stated a fact from a case file. "And if you want someone there when you do it, just say the word." Her voice softened further, turning quiet enough that it almost disappeared beneath the music drifting across the rooftop. "I'll always come. No matter what it is."

Imogen’s gaze lifted slowly, carrying across the small clearing of patio over to where June stood. She wanted to argue, confess how she felt like an imposter in a tower surrounded by heroes and vigilantes and beings capable of great, immense power. And then there was her. She didn’t feel brave, she felt like a coward and useless, like she needed to prove her worth to people like Luke and her brother. A quiet sigh escaped as she ran her fingers along her bicep. "Thanks," she whispered, managing the best smile she could beneath the weight of everything that clung to the corners of her mind.

June drew a slow breath and let it out through a tired smile. The admission felt easier after the liquor, after the meeting, after spending an entire day watching the people she cared about fracture under the weight of everything happening around them. "I don't have a lot of friends left," she admitted, turning the bottle idly between her fingers. "Or family, for that matter." Her eyes found Imogen's again, honest and unwavering. "I count you as both, so..." One shoulder lifted in a small shrug. "You know. Burn the world down for you and all that dramatic stuff." A grin finally broke through, brighter than anything she'd managed all day, and she nudged the bottle in Imogen's direction as if to punctuate the absurdity of it. "Within reason, obviously. Alfred would be very disappointed in me if I started any actual fires."

The blonde snorted out a quiet laugh as she tucked wild, wind-swept hair back behind her ears. "That’s alright, I don’t mind getting my hands a little dirty with arsen," Imogen mused with a small guilty smile. Her right hand lifted to rest against the railing once more, tapping her nails against the glass for a second or two before continuing in a more somber tone. "Yeah well, I don’t really have much either… family or friends," she offered with her own small shrug. Her attention followed a bird that fluttered overhead before gliding out over the ocean. There was a peace and calm for a moment, before she parted her lips to say something else but was interrupted by a quiet ding from her back pocket.

Imogen pulled out her phone, unlocked the screen, and navigated to her messages. Her brows furrowed when she saw the little notification tick and her brother’s name. She stood there frozen for a second, simply staring at it. Then it vibrated again and a little ‘two’ popped up beside the small image of Jim and her in matching pajamas from a Christmas that felt like it was a lifetime ago. She cleared her throat and ran her tongue along the back of her teeth before opening the message.

We need to talk. I'll find you tomorrow morning. 4:17 pm

To apologize. 4:17 pm

She exhaled deeply through her nose, not knowing how to handle the simple words displayed before her. "He wants to apologize… Jim," Imogen spoke quietly, like the words cost something to speak into existence. She didn’t know if she said it out loud more for herself or June or maybe just to make sure she wasn’t imaging things. "Magni must have scared him," she commented, looking over at June with an exhausted expression that shared more than words ever could. The anxiety and dread of the conversation had already started to knit itself across her shoulders, not to mention whatever feeling that settled heavily in the pit of her stomach at the knowledge that her brother was likely only apologizing because a big scary Asgardian told him too. But even beneath all of that, there was still the tiniest sliver of hope, the kind of hope she clung desperately too even when she shouldn’t, that maybe someday things would go back to the way they used to be.

June blinked once, then again, genuine surprise flickering across her face as she stared out toward the dark water. The ocean rolled endlessly below them, waves breaking against the shoreline in steady white lines while the wind tugged loose strands of hair across her cheek. "Wow," she mumbled, sounding almost impressed.

A slow smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she glanced sideways toward Imogen. "I wonder if Magni hit him?" The question lingered for a beat before she snorted softly and shook her head. "Maybe he needs to be checked for a concussion. An apology, face to face?" Her smile widened into something more openly amused. "You might want to record it. For science."

Imogen laughed. It was weak and frayed with a fatigue for something that had yet to happen. She appreciated June trying to make light of it and find humor laced somewhere through the dread that now nagged at the back of her mind. But it wasn’t able to pull her out of her heavy thoughts. She didn’t say anything, only spared her a quick glance and a tired smile.

The humor softened as she looked back toward the horizon. June knew that look on Imogen's face. Hope was a stubborn thing, especially when family was involved. "Hey," she said quietly. "Whether Magni scared him, threatened him, or dropped him headfirst into a wall, it still means he reached out." Her gaze drifted down to the phone in Imogen's hand before returning to her friend. "We both know how stubborn he can be… if he didn’t want to on some level, he wouldn’t bother."

"Yeah… maybe," Imogen whispered, not entirely convinced but still trying her best to see it from the other perspective.

Then her phone vibrated a third time…

Tell June I already ate. 4:19 pm

Imogen’s eyes slowly closed as every patience and frustration collided somewhere deep in her chest. She nodded her head with the unsurprised sort of understanding that hit hardest as she slowly walked toward June and held out her phone without saying a word. She didn’t know the meaning behind it, but she didn’t have to. Whatever plans that had been made were severed, but not even directly. Jim knew they were talking, either through security cameras or who knows, but it begged the question if he had been listening the whole time. But more than that, he texted her not June… and something about that twisted uncomfortably in her stomach. "I’m sorry," was all she said, because what else could she offer?

She cleared her throat and drew in a deep breath as she slowly reached back out to take her phone. Her gaze fell back down to the screen as if the words might have changed in the handful of seconds she looked away, but they didn’t. Imogen blinked then her thumbs tapped out a cold, single word response.

Fine. 4:21 pm

A second or two passed, and then because Imogen was petty with a bitchiness she was tired of tempering, her thumbs aggressively beat a second message against the screen.

You should have told her yourself. 4:22 pm

June leaned slightly closer at first, confusion knitting her brows together as Imogen held the phone out toward her. For a second she wasn't entirely sure what she was supposed to be looking at. Then her eyes found the message. Five words. Simple. Direct. Enough to unravel the rest of the evening with almost insulting efficiency.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked away from the screen and back toward the ocean. Dark water stretched endlessly beyond the beach, sunlight catching on the crests of distant waves before they disappeared again into the black. The bottle rested loosely in her hand, though her fingers tightened around its neck until the glass creaked faintly beneath the pressure. "I wasn't hungry anyways," she said after a beat that lasted just a little too long.

The lie sat bitter on her tongue.

Imogen's apology landed somewhere deep in her chest, soft and undeserved. June swallowed once and stared out at the horizon, focusing on the steady crash of waves below rather than the knot tightening beneath her ribs. "He shouldn't have used you as the messenger," she said quietly. Her thumb dragged along the label of the bottle before she let out a slow breath through her nose. "I'm sorry."

She couldn't quite bring herself to look back at Imogen as she said it. Not because she was angry. Not because she blamed her. Her chest simply felt too tight, crowded with disappointment and embarrassment and something else she couldn't quite name. So she kept her eyes on the ocean instead, jaw tightening briefly before she forced it to relax, and listened to the waves roll endlessly against the shore below.

"No, he shouldn’t have," Imogen replied simply as she put her phone on silent and slipped it back into her pocket, not particularly interested if he sent a response or not. "Don’t apologize for him."

Without a word, she hooked her arm around June’s shoulders. "I think you should take the time to enjoy a bubble bath, angry girl music, and the rest of Phil’s ridiculously expensive booze," she suggested with a gentle squeeze and a pointed flick of her nail against the glass bottle, making it swing faintly within the girl’s grasp. "Maybe even a vibrator if you’re feeling especially defiant," Imogen added with a faint devious smirk, doing her best to make June laugh… despite it all.

June barked out a laugh before she could stop it, the sound bright and surprised as it escaped into the evening air. It caught her off guard after everything else the day had held, after meetings and arguments and grief and all the sharp corners she had spent hours trying not to cut herself on. Her smile widened despite herself, genuine now, and she shook her head as she looked over at Imogen. "Never let anyone tell you that you don't have good ideas," she said, amusement lingering warmly in her voice.

She reached up and squeezed the arm draped around her shoulders, a quiet gesture that carried more affection than she was usually comfortable showing. For a moment she stood there beside her friend and looked out over the ocean. The horizon glowed golden beneath the lowering sun, and the breeze carried the scent of salt and distant rain across the rooftop. June filled her lungs slowly, letting the fresh air push some of the day's weight from her chest, and when she exhaled it felt easier than it had in hours.

Then she slipped free from beneath Imogen's arm and started toward the rooftop door. Her heels clicked softly against the stone path between clusters of candles while music drifted around them from unseen speakers. At the threshold she paused and looked back over her shoulder, lifting the bottle in one hand and offering the other woman a jaunty wave. "Enjoy your date. Seriously, you deserve it."

The smile stayed with her as she disappeared into the dim stairwell beyond the door. Cool shadows swallowed her as she descended toward the tower below, toward hot water, angry music, and enough expensive liquor to make the day seem a little farther away. For the first time since dawn, she wasn't thinking about missing fathers, fractured teams, or contingency plans. She was simply tired, and for one evening at least, she intended to follow her friend's advice.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... jim, ronnie, luke, tobias, rune & magni ............... collabs ....|.... @Sleepy Tani}

What Lies Below

^{#3c6c6b ....|..... outfit ............... #fcb9c1 ....|..... outfit ............... boone's garage}

Sutton stood at the edge of the Municipal Building’s parking lot with her back toward the slowly closing rear exit that groaned and creaked as the door took its sweet time closing. Her gaze kept drifting back toward the rose gold Fiat like it was some forgotten relic that’s only purpose had been decoration over the past couple weeks. She missed her car, missed the tiny sliver of freedom it gave her even within the confines of a small town like Pine Ridge. Perhaps she’d ask for her keys back tomorrow, once the festival went off without a hitch and the Mayor could see how all of her hard work had paid off. Maybe he’d say yes this time.

The loud thud and click of the door shutting and latching, startled her out of her wishful thinking and grounded her back in the misery that awaited her. Out of habit, her thumb pressed the button on the key fob. The black Mercedes Benz parked directly in front of her beeped and its lights flashed, reminding her, as if she had forgotten. Sutton slowly approached the driver’s side door and opened it with a soft sigh that puffed up her lips. She tossed her purse over to the passenger side before lowering herself into the driver’s seat. The sports car was so low to the ground that when she settled it felt as though she might as well have sat directly on the asphalt.

The amount of time it took her to adjust the Mayor’s car before driving it was a chore in and of itself. The first thing she always did was take off her heels and set them aside on the passenger side floorboard. There was no way in hell she was going to drive a car that cost more than everything she owned with anything more than flats or sneakers on. She only had to go a couple blocks and that was plenty of time for those damn heels to get caught on the gas pedal and cause all sorts of trouble. Next she pressed the little button to the left of the seat and waited as the electronic gears slowly—very slowly—scooted her forward until her toes brushed the pedals and her hands could reach the steering wheel. Then came the mirrors, which she double and triple checked before ever pressing the ignition button.

Sutton sat in the idling car for far longer than was necessary, building up the determination to put it into gear. With one final sigh, for courage, or maybe just inevitability, she fastened her seatbelt and reluctantly shifted into drive. To say that she drove that vehicle like she was pushing eighty was an understatement. It rode low to the ground, so it could bottom out any pothole or steep curb, not to mention it was easily three times the size of her own car… which made it feel more like a land boat. She pulled out onto the back road slowly and it was only when she reached the stop sign that she remembered Main Street was closed, which turned her three turn two block excursion into more blocks and turns than she could count.

By the time Sutton pulled into Boone’s Garage from the alleyway that ran behind it, her knuckles were white around the steering wheel. Her stress levels were far too high for such a simple drive, but all the closed streets, crowded sidewalks, and wandering tourists did nothing to ease her tensions. She eased into the drive, pulling up to one of the open garage doors with a grateful sigh, quickly putting the car into park and shutting it off before it could somehow betray her. After quickly slipping back on her heels, she emerged out of the driver’s side in the least ladylike way possible, grunting softly as she pulled herself to her feet, then stumbling a step or two like she had just hiked a mile in those shoes rather than simply climbed out of an exceedingly low car.

The door shut with a muffled thud as she turned toward the garage. The doors were open and a dim overhead light was on, which led her to believe it was open. Thank God. But as she slowly approached, heels clicking along rough concrete, Sutton didn’t see Warren, or anyone else, wandering about. She should have called, she knew it, but it was too late now as she lingered just outside, awkward and oblivious. There was a second where she contemplated going back for her phone which she left in the car, but instead decided to muster whatever courage she had to drift closer toward the open doors and poke her head in. She cleared her throat quietly, before calling out as gently as she could. "Hello? Warren?"

Boone's Garage always smelled the same. Motor oil. Hot metal. Sawdust tracked in from boots. Grease worked so deeply into old concrete that no amount of scrubbing would ever remove it. The familiar scents settled heavily in the warm air while classic rock drifted from a battered bluetooth speaker perched on a cluttered workbench. Hotel California hummed through the garage beneath the occasional clink of tools and the distant rattle of traffic from the street beyond. Warren had the heat running despite the open bay doors, and the difference between the chilly autumn morning outside and the warmth inside the shop felt immediate.

The garage itself stretched deeper than most people expected. Tool chests lined one wall beneath pegboards crowded with wrenches, sockets, and decades of accumulated equipment. Tires were stacked neatly in one corner beside shelves packed with fluids, spare parts, and cardboard boxes labeled in thick black marker. A faded calendar hung near the office door three months behind schedule. Near the back of the shop, old Mr. Rivers sat slumped in a folding chair with a copy of The Hunger Games resting open on his chest, snoring softly enough to blend into the music. Warren hadn't had the heart to wake him, the old man worked hard enough when he was awake.

Warren had left from helping with the festival hours ago, not because anything needed fixing, he'd simply needed something productive to do with his hands before he strangled Jesse or told Heather something he'd regret later. Working always helped. It always had. When his father died, Warren had spent nearly a week locked away in this very garage rebuilding the engine of the old 1967 Chevrolet Impala currently hanging above him. He could still remember Charlie showing up with red-rimmed eyes and stubborn determination, practically dragging him back into the world one sarcastic comment at a time. She'd already lost her own father by then, and their dad had been hers too in all the ways that mattered. Sometimes grief sat easier when shared with people who understood it, so he’d let her think she’d successfully managed to drag him out of the shop.

The same thing happened after Heather. He'd worked until his shoulders ached and his vision blurred from exhaustion. He'd torn apart engines that weren't broken and fixed things that didn't need fixing because it gave his mind somewhere else to go. Cars made sense, parts wore out, bolts snapped, engines failed. There was always a reason, but people were far harder to understand. It had been Harlan who had dragged him away that time, running with Warren through the forests until he felt more like himself again. Which was precisely why he found himself beneath the Impala again, stretched out on a rolling creeper while fighting with the starter motor bolted to the rear of the engine block where it met the transmission. The damned thing engaged the flywheel every time the engine turned over. Without it, the car was little more than an expensive lawn ornament. Warren wanted to repair the original before buying a replacement because he hated using eBay with a passion usually reserved for personal enemies.

The bolt currently refusing to move wasn't helping his mood, he grunted beneath the car and gave the wrench another pull before the sound of heels clicking against concrete reached him through the music. Sutton's voice followed a moment later. Warren jumped, not expecting to hear anyone in the garage, smacking his forehead right into the metal bolt he’d been fighting with this whole time. "Fuck—damn it, in here." His voice carried easily through the garage. He planted his boots against the concrete and pushed himself backward on the creeper until he rolled free from beneath the Impala, rubbing his head with one hand and trying not to look too agitated.

Sutton winced at the loud clang that came from under the old car, her head tucking between her tensed shoulders while her face contorted into a pained grimace. "Shit," she cursed under her breath before pushing off the wall and hurrying over to the side of the car. Her hands lightly pressed against the hood, leaning over to look down at him as he rolled out. Blonde waves, wild and untamed from her rush that morning, framed her face as she surveyed him with concern-widened eyes.

Surprise flickered briefly across his face. Of all the people he expected to walk into the garage today, Sutton hadn't made the list. A genuine smile tugged at his mouth as he sat up and grabbed a rag from the workbench beside him, wiping grease from his hands and forearms. "Well, what's the prettiest girl in town doing in my shop?" he asked as he climbed to his feet. His gaze drifted toward the black Mercedes parked outside before returning to her. "Is that little Fiat giving you issues?" The smile widened slightly as he tossed the rag aside and hooked a thumb toward the Impala behind him. "You know they don't make those new cars to be as sturdy as the old ones."

It was no secret that the Boone brothers were the resident heartthrobs of Pine Ridge. Harlan and Warren were both monoliths of men, tall, dark, and handsome wrapped up with a perfect little bow of kindness that caught a lot of wandering eyes over the years. It had almost been a right of passage for most women around their age to develop a crush on one or both of them. For Sutton it was right after she got back home from college, around the time that she started working for the Mayor. The check engine light was on in her car and Warren was there to help her… because it was his job. But in their brief encounters he was kind, patient, and safe, compared to the constant state of fear and anxiety she existed in around the Mayor. It was something easy for her to fixate on as she adjusted to what was now her norm. She quickly moved past it, as most people did with crushes, but even as that died it didn’t stop Warren from still being distractingly attractive. The grease and overall ruggedness that came with being a mechanic didn’t help matters.

Sutton took a small step back, making room for him as he sat up. Given the considerably loud thunk that came from beneath the car, she was surprised to be met with a smile rather than a glare and more curses… perhaps she had grown too accustomed to anger and punishment for her every mistake. She let out a quiet sigh of relief as some of the tension slipped from her shoulders and her own apologetic smile bloomed warm and bashful. Whatever kind of greeting she had been expecting, that… wasn’t it. Blonde curls bounced softly along her shoulders as she shook her head and rolled her eyes playfully. "You’re full of it," she muttered under her breath with little to no conviction. She had heard rumors of how charming Warren was. She should have known better. Yet, a soft flush settled along her pale skin as small dimples dipped into her cheeks.

Warren was entirely too pleased to see that flush creep across her cheeks. "That's what everyone says right before they realize I'm right," he replied easily, though there wasn't much conviction behind the teasing. Sutton's dimples deepened as she smiled, and for a moment she seemed strangely out of place amidst the clutter of tools, oil stains, and half-disassembled engines. The garage was all grit and worn steel, and somehow she still managed to brighten it simply by standing there.

His gaze lingered for a second before drifting away, giving her the courtesy of not staring. Warren had always thought Sutton was beautiful. Sable would undoubtedly hold the title of most elegant woman in Pine Ridge if anyone asked him, and he would happily tell her so too, partly because it was true and partly because he had no interest whatsoever in discovering whether a witch could turn him into a frog. Sutton was different. She reminded him of sunlight breaking through heavy cloud cover, warm and impossible to ignore even when the rest of the world felt gray. It was a dangerous comparison to make, so he kept it to himself.

There were days when he wondered whether things might have gone differently if he hadn't become Alpha. The thought surfaced more often than he cared to admit and never stayed long enough to be useful. Responsibility had a way of swallowing entire futures before a person noticed what they were giving up. Warren had accepted that years ago, accepted the late nights, the constant vigilance, and the understanding that everyone else's problems reached his doorstep eventually. Dragging someone like Sutton into that mess felt selfish, especially when she deserved something steadier than the life he could offer.

That thought soured slightly as his eyes drifted toward the Mercedes parked outside. Sutton worked for Samuel Holt. Whether she knew the truth about Pine Ridge or not, she stood closer to it than most people ever would. The realization sat heavily in his chest for a moment before he pushed it aside and focused back on her instead.

She lifted her right hand, gently sweeping her wild hair back behind her ears as she turned slightly to follow his line of sight toward the Mercedes. "My car’s fine… I think," she responded with a sigh. "I don’t really know. I don’t get to drive it much these days," she confessed. Sutton slowly turned back around to face him, her gaze following the gesture of his thumb toward the old muscle car that had been living in the garage for as long as she could remember. "I think we both know that’s too much car for me." She laughed softly at the thought of her behind the wheel of an old muscle car and the sheer panic she’d be in trying to juggle driving a vehicle the size of house along with shifting gears.

Her quiet chuckle stopped abruptly, replaced with a gasp as she lifted her gaze to meet his, but instead caught sight of a small cut along his forehead and a drip of crimson that beaded at the end of it. Sutton quickly closed the distance between, shifting up onto her tip toes to try and get a better look. "Christ, you’re tall," she muttered under her breath, unable to get a good view. She looked around the garage for some sort of solution, eventually catching a glimpse of a rolling stool with a cracked leather seat leaning up against a nearby toolbox. Delicate fingers curled around Warren’s forearm and gently tugged him in that direction. Of course if he didn’t want to move, there was no way in hell she’d be able to move him, but she hoped he’d humor her.

Warren's brows pulled together slightly at her answer. He remembered the day she'd brought the Fiat in for the first time, remembered the way she'd hovered nearby while he worked on it, asking questions and watching everything with genuine interest. Most people treated cars like appliances. Sutton loved hers. The thought of her barely getting to drive it anymore sat wrong with him for reasons he couldn't quite articulate, and he made a mental note to ask about it later if the opportunity presented itself. Before he could, however, she was suddenly moving closer, and his train of thought derailed completely.

He blinked down at her as she tipped onto her toes, brown eyes narrowing in concentration while she searched his face for whatever had caught her attention. Up close, she smelled nice. Not perfume exactly, or at least not entirely. There was something soft about it that reminded him of Charlie's old cashmere sweater, worn thin from years of use and carrying traces of woodsmoke from too many campfires, mingled with the scent of wildflowers that bloomed in the mountain meadows every spring. Her fingers settled around his forearm a second later, cool and surprisingly gentle against skin still warm from working beneath the Impala, and amusement slowly replaced his confusion as he finally realized what she was looking at.

A laugh rumbled quietly in his chest, the cut hadn't even registered and it would be healed in less than an hour. He allowed himself to be tugged a step toward the rolling stool, though the effort accomplished more for her benefit than his. "Are you sure you aren't just tiny, Thumbelina?" he asked easily, the teasing slipping out before he could stop it. Warren was more than content to see that pretty blush rise up in her cheeks again.

A quiet scoff slipped out from behind rosy lips and reddened cheeks as she looked up at him incredulously. "I am five foot seven, thank you very much," Sutton corrected him pointedly. "That’s above average. And with these shoes—" She lifted her right foot, bending her knee to wiggle one of the ivory heels in the air behind her. "—I get at least two more inches," she added, because apparently that fact was equally as important. "You’re just a giant."

Warren's grin only widened as she defended herself. His eyes followed the motion automatically when she lifted her foot, taking in the ivory heel dangling behind her before his gaze drifted briefly down her legs and back up again. The appreciation stayed firmly locked behind his smile, though it certainly didn't go unnoticed by him. "Mmhm," he hummed, nodding as if he were giving her argument serious consideration. "Five foot seven and two extra inches of determination."

"Exactly," she mused with a pleased smirk as she hooked the arch of her shoe on the footrest of the stool and rolled it closer with surprising coordination. "Sit," she commanded with all the authority of a feisty kitten while gently pushing against his arms. Once he was seated, the tips of her fingers lightly swept along his forehead, brushing the curls that had slipped free from his bun back out of his face. Her nose scrunched in a faint grimace as she studied the cut. "I think I might get chased out of town with torches and pitchforks," she whispered, taking his chin in her hand and tilting it upward slightly so his face caught the light. "I marred one of the precious Boones," she mused.

The grin tugging at his mouth widened as he settled onto the stool without protest, long legs folding awkwardly beneath him while he rested his forearms across his knees. Sitting finally put them closer to eye level, though Warren suspected she'd still find something to complain about if it meant winning the argument. The warmth of the garage wrapped comfortably around them while Hotel California drifted lazily through the background and old Mr. Rivers continued snoring away in the corner without so much as turning a page. "There," he said, tilting his head slightly toward her. "Now you can play doctor. What's the verdict?"

She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips while trying to temper the heat that threatened to settle across her cheeks permanently. Her hand that still held his chin tilted his head back a fraction more before sucking in a sharp, overly dramatic breath through clenched teeth. "Unfortunately… I think you’ll live," she teased with a gentle warmth that lacked any seriousness whatsoever. Because, in truth, if that single headbump was actually deadly, Sutton would have worried herself sick getting him to a doctor, then spent the rest of her life trying to atone for it. "You might have a small scar," she admitted with a small guilty smile. "Although, I hear girls like that sort of thing… So, you’re welcome?"

Warren's grin sharpened immediately, entirely too pleased with himself as he looked up at her. The hand resting on his chin kept him tilted back, but that didn't stop him from wiggling his eyebrows in exaggerated interest. "Is that your expert opinion?" he asked, amusement warming every word. His gaze lingered on her face for a beat before the corner of his mouth crooked higher. "Are you saying you like scars?"

Sutton’s breath caught in her throat as her attention fell from the cut, snagging on Warren’s gaze and suggestive brows as he looked up at her. His eyes were dark and cast in shadow from his prominent brow, but still somehow warm in the way they squinted and creased when he smiled. She felt the heat bloom along her cheeks once again no matter how much she wished she didn’t. Her eyes betrayed her, flicking upwards and landing on the small scar that cut across his left eyebrow before quickly returning to his expectant gaze. "No comment," she whispered while trying to fight the small curve that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Then a loud snore tore through the garage, cutting through the tension, followed by the soft thud of his paperback book falling to the ground. Sutton started, pressing her hand against her chest with a gasp before devolving into soft laughter at her own jumpiness. After taking a second to calm herself, she took a step back and wagged a finger at Warren. "You, stay," she instructed him, but before heading toward the car, she instead wandered deeper into the garage. She bobbed and weaved around hanging half torn apart engines, greasy toolboxes, and other dirty things she didn’t know the name for, making sure none of her exceptionally light colored clothing brushed up against any of it.

Warren's grin widened immediately at the wagging finger. He lifted both grease-stained hands in mock surrender and settled more comfortably onto the stool as she disappeared deeper into the garage.. "Yes, ma'am," he called after her, the amusement plain in his voice. Watching Sutton march off with such purpose tugged another smile from him, and he shook his head slightly as the click of her heels echoed throughout the shop. Truth be told, he found the whole thing far more attractive than he probably should have. There was something about a woman who wasn't afraid to tell him what to do that he appreciated more than was likely wise.

After a minute or so, she reached where Mr. Rivers sat slumped in his chair. Sutton crouched with a practiced poise while wearing a skirt and scooped up the book. Her index finger slipped between the pages, attempting to keep his place, although the likelihood of it being at the right spot after the tumble was minimal. She set the worn copy of the Hunger Games open, pages down on the table beside him when the old man snored to life. He looked over at her groggily through squinted eyes. "Mornin’, Sutton."

She chuckled and smiled down at him almost like she was caught redhanded. "Good morning, Mr. Rivers," she replied warmly and barely above a whisper.

The old man snorted out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a snore. "Mr. Rivers? That’s my…" And then he was back asleep just as quickly as he had awoken.

Warren watched the exchange with a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Most people ignored Mr. Rivers when he drifted in and out of naps throughout the day, treating him like another piece of furniture that had occupied the garage longer than anyone could remember. Sutton didn’t.

The old mechanic's half-finished response dissolved back into a snore, and Warren shook his head softly. His gaze lingered on Sutton for a moment longer, taking in the warmth in her smile and the easy kindness that seemed to flow from her without effort. She gave pieces of herself away constantly like that, little acts of care so small most people never noticed them. Warren noticed, though. It was hard not to.

Sutton bit back a chuckle before navigating the maze of a garage, following the same path she took before. She slipped back out the bay doors and made her way over toward the Mercedes that waited patiently in the drive. She pulled open the driver’s side door and stretched across the cabin, reaching for her purse that sat in the passenger seat. The sharp click of her heels echoed beneath the muffled guitar solo that filled the garage as she hurried back over to him. As she approached, she unsnapped the small ivory clutch. Normally, a lady’s purse was filled with things like lip gloss, lotion, or other baubles, but Sutton’s was more like a tiny first aid kit. There was enough room for her phone to wedge in there somewhere and the rest of the space was filled with various medical supplies.

"The Mayor wanted an oil change before the festival," she finally answered his original question with a small shake of her head as she sifted through the various prepackaged supplies shoved inside. Sutton knew she looked paranoid with all that in her purse, but the crazier part was how quickly she went through it all trying to keep the various bite marks hidden so people didn’t ask questions. Most of the time she hid it, but this was one of the few times where it actually came in handy. A second or two later she found one of the antiseptic wipes with a quiet, triumphant hum.

There was a moment where Sutton went to place her purse in Warren’s empty hands for him to hold while she played nurse, but then she saw the grease that still clung to the creases in his fingers and beneath his nails. She laughed softly and leaned around him to set it down on the hood of the Impala instead. After ripping open the little packet and pulling out the wipe, she set the trash beside her bag then slowly took a step forward, filling the small space between his knees. Her free hand tilted his head back once again, then brushed back his curls and held them out of the way. She paused for a second, then lightly pressed the wipe against the cut without a warning, gritting her teeth knowingly at the sting that followed. "Sorry," she whispered, leaning forward quickly to blow on the cut and ease the discomfort.

Warren grimaced faintly at the mention of the Mayor. The expression was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, buried beneath years of practice and politeness, but the name alone was enough to sour his mood. If the universe ever decided to do him a favor, Samuel would find himself on the receiving end of a long list of grievances Warren had spent years carefully swallowing. Before that train of thought could go any further, however, Sutton stepped between his knees and effectively derailed it. One second he was thinking about oil changes and town politics, and the next he was acutely aware of how close she was standing.

He watched her lean around him to rescue her purse from his grease-stained hands and couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his mouth. Smart girl. The scent of wildflowers drifted through the warmth of the garage as she returned, accompanied by the faint rustle of medical supplies shifting inside her clutch. When her fingers tilted his chin upward and brushed his curls aside, Warren's attention narrowed entirely to her. There was nothing particularly romantic about antiseptic wipes and minor injuries, yet his imagination briefly wandered toward far more… pleasurable circumstances before he firmly shoved those thoughts back where they belonged.

The sting arrived exactly when expected, Sutton pressed the wipe against the cut and Warren felt the sharp bite of alcohol against broken skin. His face tightened for a fraction of a second before relaxing again as she immediately leaned forward to blow gently across the injury. The cool breath against his forehead felt oddly soothing after the burn. "I've had worse," he said easily, the corner of his mouth lifting into a warm smirk. Years of scraped knuckles, broken bones, and violent wolf fights had a way of recalibrating a person's definition of pain.

His thoughts drifted briefly to his first shift, every werewolf remembered it. Bones breaking and reshaping themselves beneath skin, muscles tearing only to knit themselves back together wrong before correcting again, every nerve in the body screaming in protest while something ancient clawed its way to the surface. Compared to that, an alcohol wipe barely qualifies as an inconvenience. Warren looked up at Sutton and found himself smiling again despite the memory. "Though if you're trying to impress me with your bedside manner, I should probably warn you that I've survived Harlan’s first aid before." The teasing warmth returned to his voice as he rested his hands loosely on his thighs. "That's a pretty low bar to clear."

Sutton’s lips curved into a soft smile, accented by a quiet, breathy chuckle. "I’m no longer in the business of trying to impress people," she confessed. Blonde hair slipped from behind her ear as she worked with a meticulous sort of patience, slender fingers gently holding him in place and guiding the bit of cloth along his forehead. "It took some time, but I eventually learned that people will like me, or they won’t, and it’s a waste of my time to try and convince them otherwise." Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. After countless failed friendships and her job with the Mayor, Sutton didn’t know where she began and the people pleaser in her ended. Eventually, with enough other stuff on her plate she just sort of… stopped, choosing to live in whatever form that came in. People were free to come and go as they pleased, but her life hardly felt like her own anymore. It wasn’t like she was given the freedom to make or keep friends anyway.

She drew in a slow breath, feeling the heaviness of… everything creeping in around the edges and threatening to dampen what might have been the lightest she felt in days. When was the last time she smiled or laughed without it feeling like a mask or some forced charade so people didn’t ask what was wrong? She couldn’t remember. Sutton shoved the thoughts away to the farthest recesses of her mind before they could take root. Her gaze found its way back to Warren, pretending as if the sadness didn’t attempt to break free. "Although I’ll take my gold star for being a better medic than Harlan," she mused with a little grin and a prideful spark that she let shine brighter than the lingering darkness.

Warren's smile softened as he listened. The bluetooth speaker crackled quietly through an old guitar riff somewhere behind them, and Mr. Rivers let out a particularly impressive snore from his chair in the corner, yet Warren found himself paying attention only to her. There was something sad tucked beneath her words, something carefully folded away and carried so long it had become part of her. He knew that feeling. Maybe not in the same way, but close enough to recognize it when he saw it.

His gaze lingered on her face as she worked, careful fingers cleaning away the last traces of blood while she talked about people coming and going. Warren thought about how easy it would have been for someone to mistake her kindness for weakness, they would have been wrong. There was a stubborn sort of resilience in Sutton, buried beneath apologies and soft smiles and nervous habits. "For the record," he said quietly, his voice dropping low enough that it felt almost private despite the open garage around them, "I've always liked you for who you are."

Sutton’s hand slowed as her gaze drifted back down to meet his as he spoke. Warren’s words weren’t playful or teasing or laced with his signature flirting that slipped out every other sentence. The confession was offered with a gentle sort of sincerity that settled heavier than any compliment could. Warmth dusted her cheeks as something foreign churned in her stomach, but she didn’t look away, choosing to accept his words as they were offered, open and raw, without false flattery. "I’m glad," she responded quietly, holding his gaze for a moment longer before her hand slowly started moving again.

The seriousness sat between them for only a moment before Warren's grin returned, warm and crooked around the edges. He had no interest in watching that shadow settle back over her eyes, not when she'd been smiling. "A gold star?" he echoed, brows lifting thoughtfully as though she had presented him with a particularly difficult problem. "Hmm. I think I can do better than that." His eyes drifted briefly toward her purse sitting on the Impala's hood, then toward the Mercedes parked outside, before settling back on her again.

He leaned forward slightly on the stool, forearms resting across his knees as a mischievous spark appeared in his eyes. "You successfully diagnosed a life-threatening case of bumping-my-head-on-an-engine-block, administered treatment, and managed not to kill the patient in the process." The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "That feels like it deserves at least a coffee. Maybe lunch if you're accepting additional compensation." His grin widened just enough to make it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. "Though I suppose that depends on if you want to, I’m not in the business of forcing pretty girls to do anything they don’t want to."

Sutton had barely regained her rhythm when he shifted forward, filling some of the space between them as he looked up at her with something wild and reckless glinting behind his eyes. The whole predicament of it felt disarmingly intimate. Her hand still held his chin, his face lingered close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath through the mountain chill, and their eyes remained locked while he weaved his web through flirtations and charming smirks. Her flush hadn’t even had a chance to dissipate before it bloomed brighter and untamed across her pale skin. Her gaze drifted over toward the black Mercedes that waited to be addressed, then her head turned in the opposite direction, looking down Main Street toward the diner.

When was the last time she had a somewhat normal conversation like this? Months? When was the last time someone like Warren Boone flirted with her and asked her out to lunch? Well… never, because stuff like that never happened to her. It wasn’t a question of if Sutton wanted to go, but if she should. The Mayor said to eat while the oil was being changed, and he wanted Warren himself to do it. She had no clue how the contrary could get back to him. But people in town talked, and if they were seen eating at the diner, how long before the Mayor found out? She could go on for hours listing every reason under the sun why she shouldn’t, but his smile and the way he kept looking up at her made everything else feel like a problem for another time.

"I see what you’re doing," she spoke softly as her gaze found its way back to him. It wasn’t a no, and even if it was, the smile that curled bashful and unbidden told another story. Sutton tried her best to temper her grin before it gave her away entirely and quickly continued tending to his cut if only to give herself something else to focus on besides his piercing gaze. "I was told to have you tend to the Mayor’s car," she added, as if listing out every reason not to would somehow convince Warren otherwise and not entice him further. "I planned on getting lunch while you worked on it." Her face scrunched, brows creasing as she tilted her head to the side and a small snort slipped out. Ok, that definitely wasn’t helping her argument.

Warren watched the argument unravel almost in real time. He could practically see Sutton assembling reasons she shouldn't say yes only for each one to collapse under its own weight a few seconds later. The sight tugged another grin from him, warmer now, less teasing and more genuinely fond. Her brows furrowed, her nose scrunched, and she waved the cloth between them like she was presenting evidence in a courtroom. It was adorable, and unfortunately for her, Warren had absolutely no intention of helping her win the case.

"I couldn't care less what Samuel wants," he admitted easily, the words leaving him with the casual confidence of a man who had long ago made peace with being on the Mayor's bad side. His gaze never left hers as she stood between his knees, close enough that he could see every little shift of expression cross her face. "What do you want?" he asked instead. One shoulder lifted in a lazy shrug. "I can call in an order and we can eat here if you'd rather. Mr. Rivers has been around a lot longer than me. He can handle an oil change without supervision." As if summoned by the mention of his name, the old mechanic released another snore from across the garage and shifted slightly in his chair without waking.

Sutton was unable to stop the small, guilty laugh that escaped. She wished that she could approach anything that involved the Mayor with such open disdain. There was a fleeting second where she just imagined how cathartic it would be telling him no, or for once not having to bend to his every whim. But sometimes even her thoughts weren't entirely her own. She could feel the tingle of his compulsion like creeping vines, looming around the edges of her mind. Warren was lucky in his ignorance, even if he'd never know it.

She didn't quite know if it was frustrating or endearing how determined he was to shut down every excuse before it found stable ground to stand on. Sutton knew about his reputation, but it was never directed at her. They shared brief conversations when she visited the garage or they passed on the streets, but nothing like this. Her attention drifted around the garage, to Mr. Rivers snoring, before landing back on Warren’s expectant gaze. "I think we both know I couldn't sit on anything in here without ruining my clothes," she mused with a faint smile, knowing full well that her arguments were getting weaker the more she tried.

Warren laughed, the sound low and warm as he shook his head at yet another crumbling excuse. His forearms rested loosely across his knees while he looked up at her, entirely too amused by the direction this conversation had taken. "I'm sure I could figure something out," he said easily, one shoulder lifting in a lazy shrug. "I'm a resourceful guy."

His gaze drifted around the garage as though genuinely considering the logistics of accommodating her. The old couch in the office flashed through his mind, followed by the break room table, then the battered recliner Mr. Rivers occasionally claimed for his afternoon naps. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Worst case scenario, I'll just give you my chair and make Mr. Rivers share his." The old mechanic snored loudly from across the garage as if objecting to the idea in his sleep. "See? He's already negotiating."

A quiet laugh broke free from her small reluctant smile as Sutton watched him dodge and adjust course for every argument she made. Ok, so maybe his determination was endearing and more attractive than she had given him credit for. In her experience, the few men that ever looked her way would have given up already, but not Warren. He only seemed more amused, smile widening, and laughing every time she spoke. Her head ducked forward, face hidden behind blonde waves as a soft snort followed by a giggle echoed between them when he used Mr. Rivers’s snoring to somehow strengthen his counter argument.

As for what Sutton wanted? That was a more difficult question. Warren was attractive, probably the most attractive guy in town if she were comparing… which she's totally never done. He was nice and kind, and she was very aware of the little somersault her stomach did whenever he smiled at her, not his incredibly obvious flirty smiles, but the soft smiles, like when he was listening intently or didn't think anyone was looking. Sutton found it easy to talk to him, like the world was a little less heavy for a short while. She had no reason to think lunch with him wouldn't be enjoyable. But it was also more than that, more than Warren. She was lonely, unbearably so. And not in the ‘she needed a man’ sort of way, but just in a human way. Everyday she woke up and went to work for a man that terrified her, a man that over worked her, fed from her, and compelled her so much that sometimes she wondered if she was losing her mind. She wasn't allowed to see her family, or drive her own car without permission, and only was given the gift of keeping her friendship with Lucy so that she didn't kill herself from isolation. This conversation with Warren was the most she had talked to someone beyond the Mayor in weeks, maybe even months. And that knowledge was devastating.

Her gaze fell to the wipe clutched between her fingers, turning it over as she searched for the words. "I want to," she replied quietly, the confession feeling strange and foreign as it fell from her lips. It was almost like she had forgotten she could be a little selfish and want things for herself, and she didn't know what to do with that.

Sutton had been so focused on the thought of lunch and her arguments against it that what Warren had said around it nearly went unnoticed. She blinked once and her brows creased as she held up a single finger while her mind caught up. "Wait…" Sutton laughed, stalling yet again as she looked down at him with a sharp incredulousness. "Why am I the one being compensated when I’m the reason you got hurt in the first place? I should be buying your lunch." As she spoke, her hand that held the cloth waved back and forth between them with her own gentle breed of stubborn feistiness.

The laugh and confession that escaped Sutton pulled a grin from Warren in return. He rolled his eyes playfully when she started arguing over who should be buying lunch, and the motion tugged slightly at the cut she'd been tending. "Now hold on," he said, lifting a hand as though he needed to stop this line of thinking before it spread any further. "If you honestly think I'm the type of man to let you pay for my lunch on the first date, you've lost your mind." The word slipped out naturally, date, spoken with the same ease he'd used to discuss oil changes and engine parts, though the smile pulling at his mouth made it clear he'd chosen it intentionally.

His eyes flicked briefly toward the cloth in her hand before returning to her face. The garage felt smaller than it had a few minutes ago, filled with the scent of motor oil, old leather, and whatever soft floral fragrance lingered around Sutton. "Besides," he continued, amusement dancing behind his eyes, "You already patched me up. If anything, that puts us even." His grin widened slightly. "Though if it makes you feel better, you can buy lunch on the second date. I'm flexible like that."

Date. Sutton’s mind caught on the word. He offered it so easily, almost like it was a slip of the tongue if it wasn’t for his smile that said he knew what he was doing, because of course he did. He always did. And then he said it again. Her lips parted, thoughts and words churned but no sentences formed, and her mouth snapped shut. It happened two more times, this wave of bewilderment that ebbed between knowing what to say and then losing it almost immediately. It was like her brain stalled. She probably could have stood there dumbfounded for minutes on end, but in the midst of it all she managed to return to addressing his cut with the wipe that was nearly dried out at that point.

Having something else to focus on helped her thoughts settle into something more manageable and easy to sift through. Then after nearly a minute of silence, Sutton looked back down into his eyes. "Second date?" she echoed, unable to fight the small curl of her mouth at the sight of his own grin. "That’s very presumptive of you." Her thoughts slowly wandered toward the whispers that spread through town about his dating history. She never put much stock in rumors and gossip, but she couldn’t help but wonder where she fell. Was she simply a pretty face and someone to pass the time with? Was she more? Was she less? "Do you ask out every girl that finds herself in your garage?" she asked as some of her thoughts slipped free before she could temper them. And while her question might have been gently teasing, her voice was quiet and tentative, laced with deeper meaning she didn’t dare speak.

Warren watched the question settle between them and felt something in his chest tighten unexpectedly. The garage seemed quieter for a moment, filled only by the distant hum of the heater, the Eagles playing softly through the speaker somewhere behind him, and the occasional rumbling snore from Mr. Rivers in the corner. Sutton's voice had been light when she asked it, teasing even, but he caught the uncertainty underneath. He understood it. Pine Ridge talked. People always talked. His reputation had grown far larger than the truth of it years ago.

A small shake of his head answered her before the words did. The amusement remained in his eyes, warm and bright, but the expression itself softened into something more serious. "I don't," he said simply, and there was no hesitation in it. "Actually, it's been awhile." His gaze drifted briefly toward the floor between them as old memories brushed past, unwelcome and familiar. Heather had left scars deeper than the ones people could see, and after that he'd spent years throwing himself into the garage, the pack, and everyone else's problems before his own.

Sutton’s smile slowly faded as she watched the heaviness that settled behind Warren’s eyes before his gaze fell to the floor. She knew that look and it struck an aching familiarity in her chest. Pain and loneliness. She regretted asking the moment she saw his contagious smile vanish beneath the weight of memories and wounds that never seemed to heal properly. Her thumbs idly toyed with the edge of the wipe as she shifted, and lightly bumped her leg against the inside of his knee, if only to draw his attention back up to her. "I’m sorry," she whispered and shook her head softly. "I didn’t know."

The gentle bump of her leg against his knee pulled Warren from thoughts he'd rather not linger in. His gaze lifted from the concrete floor and settled on her face. The apology landed softly between them, carrying more weight than it should have, and something in his expression eased immediately. He hated that she'd looked guilty for asking. He hated even more that she'd recognized the look so quickly. It suggested experience. The kind nobody deserved.

A small shake of his head answered before the words did. "You don't have to be sorry," he said gently. The warmth returned to his voice with surprising ease, drawn back by her presence alone. His hand lifted and caught one of hers before she could retreat behind another apology or change the subject entirely. The antiseptic wipe remained trapped loosely between her fingers as he carefully turned her hand over until her palm rested upward in his own.

The difference between them struck him immediately. Warren's hands were broad and rough from years spent rebuilding engines, splitting wood, fixing roofs, and doing every other job that needed doing around Pine Ridge. Small scars crossed his knuckles and calluses lined his palms. Sutton's hand looked impossibly soft by comparison, delicate and unmarked where his bore the evidence of decades spent working. His thumb brushed lightly across her palm before the tip of his finger traced one of the lines there, the touch feather-light and absent of anything except quiet affection.

His attention remained on her hand for a moment before he looked back up at her. The garage hummed around them. The heater clicked somewhere overhead, old music drifted lazily from the bluetooth speaker, and Mr. Rivers snored on through all of it without a care in the world. "You can ask me anything," Warren said softly. There was no hesitation in it. "If I don't want to answer, I'll tell you. But you don't have to tiptoe around me, Sutton." His thumb brushed across her palm once more before a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'd rather you ask than spend the next week apologizing for being curious."

Sutton’s gaze followed the movement of his hand as he seized hers, not greedily like she might run away, but almost curious like some secret to her lived within the creases of her fingers or the lines of her palm. Warren’s skin looked impossibly tan encompassing her small pale hand, rough where hers was soft, work worn where she had never done a day of manual labor in her life. A multitude of differences narrowed down and simplified to two hands that looked stark next to one another. Her heart rate escalated and for a brief moment she worried that he could feel her pulse through her skin, but even if he did, it never showed across his face nor stopped the gentle persistence of his touch.

The softness of his fingertip along her palm sent a chill up her arm and down her spine. Sutton might have heard every word he spoke, but it took longer for the meaning to sink in. Her time with the Mayor had conditioned her not to ask questions, to just accept what she’s told without prying, because it was safer than curiosity or answers. Being given the freedom to be curious and ask questions without repercussions landed somewhere tender behind her ribs, bringing warmth to a part of her that had been shut off for longer than she could remember. "I appreciate that," she whispered, her voice tinged with nothing but sincerity and gratitude as she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

The dried antiseptic lingered faintly in the air between them, mixing with motor oil, old leather, and the floral scent she carried with her. Warren frowned slightly, not from uncertainty but from the decision to stop dancing around it. Sutton deserved better than half-flirtations and implications hidden behind jokes. "Sutton," he said, her name quieter than the rest of the conversation had been. "Would you like to go out on a date with me?"

The question settled naturally between them. Warren's lips tugged upward into a small smile as he held her gaze. There was no teasing in it this time, no easy escape route hidden behind a joke if she turned him down. Just honesty. "A real one," he added after a moment. "Not because you're standing in my garage, and not because you patched up my forehead. Just because I enjoy talking to you and I'd like the chance to do it again somewhere that doesn't smell like transmission fluid."

Her gaze drifted back and forth between his eyes, brows furrowing as she noticed the faint frown that crossed his face before he spoke. Then Warren said her name with a gentle seriousness that caught her off guard, stirring something in her chest that stole her breath. Sutton didn’t look away, not when he set aside the flirting to ask her genuinely, not when his hand still held onto hers, nor when she felt the heat climb to her cheeks for the countless time. It was only when he smiled again that hers returned, soft and bashful, curling just enough to tease the slight dip of her dimples. Her head lulled to the side while her hand swept her untamed hair back behind her ear. "I don’t mind the smell… I kind of like it," she confessed with a small shrug. There was a metallic tinge hidden beneath the heavy scent of motor oil and the salty sweat of manual labor. It was rugged, earthy, and surprisingly masculine. The scent clung to Warren whenever they crossed paths in town, far from the garage. But she didn’t mind. It didn’t stink, not to her. It just smelled like him.

Sutton could feel herself deflecting, skirting around an answer and avoiding what she wanted like she had been doing for the past four years. So, before her mind could try and force more logic, or linger on the fear of what Samuel would do if he found out, she drew in a breath and spoke honestly. "I would like that a lot." Once she answered, it was like a knot of tension across her back and shoulders had gone slack all at once. She didn’t realize how heavily always saying ‘no’ weighed on her until she finally caved and said yes, just once. It was freeing, like she could finally breathe, while equally nerve racking because she had just agreed to go on a date with the most sought after guy in town… It was a lot to digest.

For a second Warren simply stared at her. The answer registered immediately, but the meaning seemed to take a slower route through the rest of him. Then it landed all at once. Whatever careful restraint he'd been maintaining throughout the conversation shattered beneath a grin so genuine it transformed his entire face. He looked absurdly pleased with himself, like a kid who had walked into a candy store expecting to window shop and somehow left with the whole damn shelf.

The brightness that swept through him was impossible to hide. It softened the lingering shadows behind his eyes and pulled warmth into every corner of his expression. Sutton had seen him smile before. She'd seen him laugh. This was different. This was the look of a man who hadn't been certain of the answer and had spent the last ten minutes pretending otherwise. "Yeah?" he asked, the word escaping before he could stop it. His laugh followed immediately after, low and disbelieving, as if he needed to hear it one more time just to be sure he hadn't imagined the entire exchange.

Somehow Sutton’s face managed to turn the brightest shade of red it had all day at the sight of Warren’s widening grin. He was like a puppy, all smiles, enthusiasm, and unbridled excitement. She was unable to fight the power of it as her own smile bloomed, carving prominent dimples into her rosy cheeks. Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it wasn’t that. It was like she had given an answer to a question he had been harboring for years, not conceding to compensation for a wound she helped inflict. She couldn’t help but laugh at his bewilderment. "Yeah," she replied softly, reassuring him whether his question was rhetorical or not.

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the back of her hand where he still held it. The movement was unconscious, born entirely from the simple fact that he didn't particularly want to let go yet. "Well," he said, trying and failing to look significantly less pleased than he felt, "That's good, because I was running dangerously low on backup plans." The joke carried only a fraction of its usual confidence. Beneath it lingered something honest and boyishly relieved.

Sutton’s smile softened as her head fell slightly. "Well… I was running out of excuses," she confessed quietly, lifting her gaze to look over at him from beneath her long lashes.

She idled there for a moment or two, suspended in the silence of what she agreed to and Warren’s pleased smile. Eventually her gaze fell to their hands and the antiseptic wipe had long gone dry between her fingers as they debated back and forth. By all rights she should have been done. Sutton should have stepped away, cleaned up the trash, and freed him from her excessive nursing. Yet, she didn’t move, still standing between his knees as she lightly tapped her knuckle against his palm and whispered, "I need this back."

Warren's gaze dropped to where her knuckle tapped lightly against his palm. For a moment he didn't move. The warmth of her hand had settled there so naturally that letting go felt strangely disappointing. His thumb brushed once across the back of her hand before his fingers slowly loosened. The absence was immediate.

There was a quiet, unspoken hesitance before Warren released his hold and she was able to slip her hand from his grasp with a strange reluctance that Sutton didn’t know what to make of. She cleared her throat, then raised the cloth, dabbing at the cut like she was checking to make sure it stopped bleeding, even if she already knew it had. The quiet lingered for a moment or two, filled only with distant snores and the rumble of the old heater, before her smile widened and her eyes lowered to meet his gaze. "I do still need to eat lunch," she mused, redirecting the conversation all the way back to where it started with the closest thing to a flirt someone as unskilled as Sutton could manage.

The space between them felt strangely more charged and intimate with the prospect of a date looming in the distance. It meant that by some degree Warren enjoyed her company as much as she enjoyed his, and maybe he wasn’t lying when he said she was pretty. All things that were taking Sutton more time than she’d like to admit to process. And while she didn’t mind silence, normally, it felt different as they remained close, so she reached for the first thing she could latch onto and found comfort in their easy conversation. "I had kind of figured you would’ve been closed," she commented while gently running the cloth along his forehead. "You know with it being Saturday… and a holiday," Sutton added as if she was trying to make a point that he shouldn’t have been there anymore than she should have been, because working on Halloween was almost as stupid as needing an oil change on Halloween. Then her brows furrowed, realizing the irony in her statement before letting out a guilty chuckle. "I guess I have no room to talk," she confessed with a small grimace.

Warren shrugged one shoulder carefully as she continued fussing over the cut, the antiseptic smell mixing with motor oil and old grease in the warm air of the garage. "The boys don't like having the garage closed, even if there isn't much to do," he said, watching her concentrate on cleaning the last traces of blood from his forehead. "A lot of them need the money, so I do what I can to help." There wasn't any pride in the statement, it was simply the truth. Most of the younger mechanics who came through Boone's Garage needed steady hours more than they needed another lecture about responsibility, and Warren had always found it easier to invest in people than talk down to them.

His gaze drifted briefly toward the open bay door where sunlight spilled across the concrete floor. More than a few of the men working for him had started as teenagers with nowhere particular to be and no real direction beyond wanting to learn. Warren trained them himself whenever he had the time, taught them the trade properly, and paid them enough to actually build a life with it. He encouraged them to leave Pine Ridge if they wanted to. A good mechanic could find work anywhere, and he liked knowing that if one of his guys decided there was more waiting beyond the Black Hills, they'd have the skills to go find it. The Boone boys weren’t rich, but they had inherited enough from their parents that generosity came easier than it might have otherwise, and Warren had never seen much point in hoarding what he didn't need.

The gentle rhythm of her hand slowed until the fingers holding the wipe stalled beside the cut while her gaze lowered to meet his as he spoke. "That’s… sweet," Sutton admitted with a raw sincerity that settled easily between them. "The world could use more men like you and your brother. You know, kind and considerate." For whatever reason the compliment came easily, without bashfulness or the need to shrink away, because it was more than that… It was the truth. There was a reason the town heralded the Boone family the way it did. It was similar to the way they looked at her own parents and the Anders. She was aware of Warren and Harlan’s generosity, heard about how they helped the little folks around town, but it was different hearing him explain it so simply, like it wasn’t so much a choice but the right thing to do.

"I feel like kindness is slowly dying," she added with a pensive crease between her brows. "Or maybe I’m just getting old and jaded," Sutton mused as a smirk curled into her left cheek.

Warren's smile softened at the compliment, though he immediately looked like he wanted to shrug it off before it settled anywhere too deep. Praise had always sat awkwardly on his shoulders. He could rebuild an engine blindfolded, run the pack, or spend three days helping someone fix their roof without a second thought, but being thanked for it always made him look vaguely uncomfortable. The warmth in Sutton's voice lingered anyway, settling somewhere beneath his ribs despite his best efforts.

"There's a lot of kindness out there," he said, his tone gentler than it had been a moment ago. His gaze followed the careful movements of her hand as she worked, watching her dab at his forehead with the same attention she seemed to give everything. "You just have to know where to look for it." One shoulder lifted in a small shrug. "Most of the time it isn't loud. It isn't the people making speeches about doing the right thing or wanting credit for it. It's usually something smaller."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward as he looked back at her. "You're kind and considerate too, you know." There wasn't any teasing hidden in the words this time. "Not everyone cares enough to actually get to know someone before they go snooping around town looking for gossip. Most people hear a story and decide they've got a person figured out." His eyes lingered on her face for a moment before drifting toward the garage around them. "You actually listen. That's rarer than you'd think."

Her smile softened as the redness crept back along her cheeks slowly. Sutton knew nearly everyone in town. They smiled and waved and shared pleasantries, but other than that she figured she was fairly… forgettable. The Mayor’s assistant seemed to be a title that preceded her above all else. It was like the other pieces of her had become less important over time. People noticed her existing, sure, but not the way Warren did. Being seen like that made something warm constrict in her chest. A second or two passed before her shoulders rose in a small shrug. "I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. There’s more to us than the gossip whispered when we’re not around. I like to come to my own conclusions about people."

"I like that," he murmured, voice soft. "Not everyone thinks like that, it’s refreshing." Sutton's hand brushed lightly against his hair as she cleaned around the cut, and Warren found himself smiling faintly at the attention. The garage fell into a comfortable quiet for a few seconds, broken only by the distant guitar from the bluetooth speaker and the soft snore drifting from Mr. Rivers corner, who Warren was paying even if he was napping, because the old men needed a break just as much as the young did. "I like coming here too, when I've got too much on my mind," he admitted after a moment, thinking back to what brought him there in the first place. His fingers drummed once against his knee before settling again. "Something about taking apart an engine makes the rest of the world easier to sort out. Cars usually tell you what's wrong with them if you're patient enough to listen."

A warmer smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked up at her. "People are a lot less considerate." The teasing note returned to his voice, softer now than it had been when she'd first walked into the shop. "Though I suppose some of them show up carrying a first aid kit in their purse and make themselves easier to figure out than most."

"Yeah, well… Most people suck," Sutton practically blurted out, quickly followed by a small snort of a laugh at her own shameless admission. His second comment made her eyes roll again while the warmth of a flush teased along her cheeks. "I’m not that complicated," she added, running the wipe along the cut one last time, for good measure. She took a small step back, not having realized the warmth Warren radiated until it was severed by distance. Her fingers folded up the stained antiseptic cloth with an unnecessary order, busying her hands as she spoke. "I’m an open book. People just don’t take the time to slow down and read it." She shrugged her shoulders slightly like it was a truth she had accepted long ago.

Sutton stepped around where he sat on the stool, more aware of the room he occupied and how different it felt when they no longer existed within each other's space. She drifted closer, almost subconsciously, as she reached past him and grabbed the wrapper that rested beside her purse. "I can see how a hobby like this could help quiet your mind when it gets noisy," she commented, motioning toward the garage as she started walking around the Impala in search of a trash can. "I could probably use a distraction like that," she admitted as she found somewhere to dispose of the trash then returned to where Warren waited. She stood before him once again, not between his knees or close enough to feel his breath, but the space was still smaller, just close enough to be faintly intimate. "I usually just put my faith in my lord and savior, Ben and Jerry’s, and watch a comfort movie when people piss me off." A bright, guilty smile blossomed across her face, warming her eyes and carving deep dimples into her cheeks.

Warren listened with the kind of attention that made it feel like every answer mattered. His grin softened into something fond as she described herself as an open book. The statement felt true. Not because Sutton shared everything, but because what she did offer was honest. Most people spent so much time performing versions of themselves that they forgot who they were underneath. Sutton never seemed to do that, she simply existed exactly as she was.

The mention of Ben and Jerry's immediately caught his attention. "Hold on," he interrupted, lifting a finger toward her. "What's your favorite flavor?" The question came quickly, earnest enough to suggest it carried genuine importance. He leaned back slightly on the stool, studying her face like the answer might reveal some deeply guarded secret. "And don't tell me something boring." The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "If you're going to put your faith in Ben and Jerry's, I need specifics."

His curiosity only seemed to grow from there. "And what's the comfort movie?" he asked. The question followed immediately on the heels of the first. "Don't overthink it. First answer." Warren folded his arms loosely across his chest as though preparing to evaluate her choices with the utmost seriousness. The amusement dancing behind his eyes ruined the effect entirely. "These are important compatibility questions."

Sutton went to reach for her purse but paused when Warren interjected like she had dropped some vital information without the proper amount of context. Her eyes widened with a guilty little smile as she froze halfway leaned around him with her fingers curled around her clutch. Her laugh was warm and light as she scooped her purse from the hood of the Impala and returned to the spot she had been occupying in front of him. "Compatibility questions," she echoed while slipping her arm through the strap of her bag and resting it on top of her shoulder. "No pressure," she mused.

Her eyes squinted pensively before her face scrunched in an attempt to convey guilt, but it mostly looked like a very sad attempt at deception. Sutton was never very good at lying. "Vanilla?" Her grimace deepened for a second or two, before the charade crumbled beneath her terrible acting. "No," she clarified, waving her hands with a weak laugh. "It’s s’mores." There was a brief pause as she ran through the small list of movies she owned, but immediately caught on the one she had watched so many times the DVD box was cracked and the disc usually just lived in the player. "Umm… Stardust?" She replied with raised brows and little to no conviction. "You’ve probably never heard of it…"

Warren looked entirely too invested in her answers. The moment she admitted vanilla had been a lie, his grin widened in obvious approval, as though she'd narrowly avoided failing some invisible test he'd invented thirty seconds earlier. S'mores earned an approving nod, and he filed the information away immediately. The kind of detail most people would forget by lunchtime settled neatly into place inside his memory instead.

The movie answer caught him by surprise. His brows lifted slightly as he searched his memory and came up empty. There wasn't any embarrassment in the admission when he finally shook his head. "I don't watch too many movies," he admitted. The confession carried a faint bashfulness to it, the kind that only appeared when he realized he might not know something he probably should. Working, the pack, the garage, and town business had a habit of consuming most of his free time.

Rather than looking deterred, he seemed to brighten at the possibility, and an idea appeared to take root immediately. "We should watch it together." The suggestion arrived with the certainty of a man who thought he'd just stumbled across the greatest idea of the century. His expression didn't change until a second later when he seemed to realize how quickly he'd said it.

"I mean, if you want," he amended, though there wasn't much conviction behind the retreat. "I probably shouldn't get too far ahead of myself, I suppose." The grin that followed completely undermined the statement. Warren looked very much like a man already getting ahead of himself and enjoying every second of it. The warmth in his eyes never wavered as he looked up at her.

Sutton’s smile remained stubbornly persistent, even when she tried to tuck her lips between her teeth or when she suddenly became very interested in the little ivory bows that sat on top of her shoes. "Probably shouldn’t," she mused quietly while the wind blew wild blonde curls across her face. "Because if we’re going to watch my comfort movie, then we have to watch yours too. Only fair." A subtle glint shined behind her eyes as she slowly looked back up to meet his gaze, subconsciously playing into his eagerness without fully being aware she was doing it. "Plus," she added with a small tilt of her head. "Stardust is kind of like a romantic, fantasy, adventure?… I don’t know if you’ll like it."

The suggestion landed exactly the way Sutton probably should have expected it to. Warren's entire expression brightened with immediate approval. He looked genuinely delighted by the prospect, as though she'd just proposed something far more exciting than spending a few hours watching movies together. "Movie marathon," he declared, nodding once as if the matter had already been settled. "That sounds perfect." His smile widened another fraction at the thought. "But it means you'll have to sit through my questionable movie choices too." The warning lacked any real sincerity. If anything, he sounded proud of it.

"I’m tougher than I look," Sutton mused, entirely unphased and lacking any concern about whatever movies he watched. If she had to guess it was some corny 80s action film, or a comedy, or maybe something Disney. And if it wasn’t? Well… Maybe they should watch Stardust second, like a palate cleanser.

"Well…" She laughed awkwardly, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears before lightly clapping her hands together. "I should probably stop smothering and fussing over you." Sutton held up her hands in innocent surrender, before motioning in the direction of the diner farther down Main Street. "You’re free to go." She paused, chuckled softly, then corrected herself. "Or I guess we are?"

By the time she declared him free to go, Warren looked downright offended by the suggestion. The stool wheels squeaked softly across the concrete as he pushed himself upright in one smooth motion. Standing only seemed to increase the energy radiating from him. The date had gone from possibility to reality, and he wore the knowledge openly. "Free to go?" he echoed. "I just got you to agree to a date. Why would I leave now?" His grin widened as he brushed his hands against his jeans.

The height difference reasserted itself the moment he straightened fully. Warren looked down at her with the same eager expression he'd been wearing ever since she said yes. "What are you hungry for?" he asked. There wasn't a trace of hesitation in him anymore. "Because unless your answer is transmission fluid, I think we can find something better than the garage." His gaze drifted briefly toward the diner before returning to her. "Your choice."

Sutton’s gaze lifted, following him as he rose from the stool to tower over her once again. The whole height and muscles thing didn’t really help ease the persistent fluttering that settled in her stomach ever since he held her hand. The best she could do was try to ignore it, although it did make the prospect of eating slightly more difficult. "I don’t actually know," she confessed with a small chuckle. "I just know I need to eat because I won’t get to again until the festival and I overslept… So I completely missed breakfast." Her attention followed Warren’s attention farther down the street toward the diner that had a constant flow of townies and tourists flooding in and out of its doors. "It’s the only restaurant in town," she offered, sparing him a sidelong glance. "Probably the safest bet."

Warren followed her gaze toward the diner and nodded easily. The suggestion suited him just fine. It wasn't fancy, but neither of them seemed like the sort of people who needed fancy. The smell of coffee and burgers drifting through Main Street every morning had been pulling people through those doors for decades, and today was no different. "The diner sounds perfect," he said.

Another snore tore through the garage, drawing Sutton’s attention past toolboxes and hanging engines to where the old man still napped. There was a small part of her that felt guilty about having to wake him up to work on the Mayor’s car, although it was easily overshadowed by Warren’s excitement that shined brighter than the rare glimpses of sunlight that crept into Pine Ridge. She pointed toward Mr. Rivers then the Mercedes parked in the drive. "Do you need to…?" she asked, if only because she could see him forgetting about it entirely amidst, you know… everything else.

Then another snore rattled through the garage. Warren's attention shifted immediately toward the far corner where Mr. Rivers remained sprawled in his chair with all the determination of a man who had no intention of participating in the workday. Following Sutton's gesture, he let out a quiet laugh and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. The Mercedes had completely slipped his mind. So had the oil change. So had just about everything that wasn't standing directly in front of him.

"Right," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "Probably should do that." He pointed toward the office at the back of the garage. "Make yourself comfortable for a minute. I'll go wake the old man up and try to convince him he's got to actually work to still be employed."

Sutton laughed softly, the sound light and airy, laced with her own slight bashfulness. She pointed towards Main Street on the other side of the garage. "I was going to take a peek at some of the decorations." She offered him a small, warm smile before she shooed him off and he started weaving his way deeper into the garage. When Warren was halfway to Mr. Rivers, she called after him, her voice nothing but gentle teasing, even in her less than intimidating authority. "And wash your hands, grease monkey. Motor oil isn’t part of a balanced diet."

Shaking his head, Warren turned and headed deeper into the garage. His boots echoed softly against the concrete as he passed toolboxes, workbenches, and an engine hanging from a hoist. The command stopped him mid-step, and a grin immediately threatened the corner of his mouth. He didn't turn around right away, partly because he was trying very hard not to look as pleased by being ordered around as he felt. "Yes, ma'am," he called back anyway.

Sutton had already wandered out of the bay doors when she heard his response. She stopped for a second, glancing back over her shoulder toward him with a faint, reluctantly bright smile, then drifted around toward the front of the garage that faced Main Street. She looked down the road watching citizens setting up stalls and decorations, or tourists meandering about to try and sneak a peek. It was odd seeing months of hard work and planning finally culminating before her eyes. There were countless sleepless nights and early mornings, all for this. The real irony was that the Mayor was going to get all the recognition. No one ever noticed or acknowledged the assistant, even if they did most of the heavy lifting. If she was looking forward to it, it was almost more so for it all to be over than the prospect of getting to enjoy herself.

She sighed softly, looking down at her hands as she waited. Her thumb idly ran along the line across her palm, subconsciously following the same path Warren’s finger had traced. When Sutton noticed, she flushed, cleared her throat, and clenched her fist. But as her hand turned over, she noticed a faint smudge of grease along her skin just beneath her knuckles. Normally, she would have immediately fetched something from her bag to clean it up… But for reasons she didn’t quite let herself fixate on, she left it, instead running the tip of her thumb along the edge of it… As if nothing that day had felt real until it left behind a tangible mark.

The closer he got, the louder the snoring became. Mr. Rivers hadn't moved an inch. Warren stopped beside the chair and looked down at him for a moment before sighing through his nose. "Mr. Rivers," he called. The old mechanic didn't stir. Warren tried again, louder this time. "Rivers." Still nothing. Finally, Warren reached out and poked the man in the chest. One eye immediately cracked open. "There he is."

"Need you to do me a favor," he said, grinning at the drowsy man, jerking a thumb toward the black Mercedes sitting outside. "Mayor's car needs an oil change." Rivers squinted toward the bay door, then back at Warren. His gaze narrowed immediately, and it said everything without him having to even open his mouth. Warren rubbed the back of his neck once. The answer felt strangely satisfying to say out loud. "Taking Sutton to lunch."

For a second, Mr. Rivers simply stared at him. Then he barked out a laugh loud enough to echo through the garage. He pushed himself upright with a groan afterwards, muttering something about young men chasing tail. "Go on then. I'll handle the oil change."

The old man waved him away with one weathered hand. Warren shook his head, still grinning despite himself, and headed back toward the front of the shop. Sutton was waiting, and for the first time all morning, the knot of frustration Heather had left behind felt a little smaller… he went back to wash his hands though, remembering belatedly that she’d told him to do so.

End of part 1

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... samuel, charlie, harlan & sable ............... collabs ....|.... @Sleepy Tani}

The Last Will of Olympus

^{colton .....|..... outfit .......... blair .....|..... outfit .......... camp half-blood}

Blair had absolutely no idea how she ended up in the stables. Ok well, she knew, but how she managed to let her siblings convince her was an entirely different story. It was no secret she hated horses—ok, not hated but was terrified of them. Which is basically the same thing in her eyes. She was content never setting foot within a hundred feet of another one again. They were pretty and she’d happily watch them gallop on by from a safe distance, but standing beside one was how she imagined it would feel standing beside a dinosaur. It really just helped reaffirm how small, fragile, and mortal she was. All things she wasn’t particularly a fan of being reminded of beside an animal that has been known to be A. skittish and B. able to kill a person with one solid kick. Yeah, no fucking thanks.

While the whole of the Athena cabin took turns brushing the horses and feeding them carrots, Blair stood safely… on the opposite side of the stables, chewing on the inside of her cheek with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She at least managed to dress practically, or as practical as a Carmichael wardrobe could get. She grabbed her least slutty black tank top that only showed a moderate amount of skin along her ribs and midriff. The jeans were a simple light wash, more expensive than denim should ever be, never worn, and tucked into knee-high leather boots. Her gaze fell to her shoes which had already sunk a little into the mud. They easily cost as much as one of those damn horses and now they were worthless, not to mention very impractical for her current predicament. The heel was only an inch, which for her was about as flat as shoes could get. It wasn’t like she was the type of person who has a pair of cowboy boots or timberlands on standby. Her idea of manual labor was a walk on a beach, not this.

"Are you ready?" Justine asked, her voice drifting across the stall, the unsettling brightness of it pulling Blair out of her internal debate between following through or making a mad dash literally anywhere else. Of course that would be fruitless. She had the athletic coordination of a panda bear on a playground.

"What if I watch instead?" Blair mused with a grimace more than an actual smile, without making a single move from her spot safely tucked in a corner. "I can be a cheerleader. I’m really good at it. I might have my old pom poms in the cabin. I should go check." She jabbed her thumb in the air over her shoulder before spinning around to make a hasty retreat. But she barely made it two steps and a gentle hand grabbed her arm, fingers curling around her bicep, not with force, but a soft will to keep her from leaving.

"The only way to get over your fear is to face it," the girl offered with a kind smile and a little squeeze, before dropping her hold.

Blair nervously rubbed the back of her neck as the anxiety churned in her stomach like choppy waves, her lunch threatening to make a disgusting reappearance. She cleared her throat, pressing her other palm against her abdomen as if it could settle the storm brewing inside of her. "Ok, but see I've been thinking… And a fear of horses is pretty small in the grand scheme of things." Her brunette ponytail brushed against her shoulder as she tilted her head to the side. "Like, I could easily go the rest of my life without ever encountering another one. It’s not like birds or spiders, right?" Straw crunched underfoot as she took another small step back, but Justine was ready, her hand rising to seize her arm a second time. "It’s fine. I’m fine. This is one thing I don’t need to conquer." To be fair, she’d be happy not conquering anything for the rest of her life, but she also knew that was highly unlikely. But this one… this one she could just ignore.

"Do you really want to be terrified for the rest of your life?" her sister asked, her words like an olive branch to bridge the gap between fear and courage.

Blair’s eyes narrowed. "Yes," she scoffed, rolling her eyes as her stubborn, spoiled rich girl mask fell into place, just for a second before falling just as quickly. She sighed. "No?" Then she stomped her foot and threw her head back with a groan that was far more dramatic than necessary. "Couldn’t we like… I don’t know, ease into it?"

"Blair…" Justine sighed, exhaustion plain in the weight of her brows creasing and the tired smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You’ve been easing into it for six months and still can’t even get close enough to brush one. I think we just need to rip off the bandaid."

Brown eyes looked over at Justine with a palpable disdain. "I hate you," Blair whispered through clenched teeth.

"I know," she laughed, the sound warm and far too pleased with herself for winning, just this once.

Blair drew in one long, deep breath, prolonging the inevitable by one more second while also attempting to steel her nerves to no avail. She ran her clammy palms along her jeans, then took a begrudging step forward. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," she muttered the word under her breath like some fucked up mantra that could get her through it in one piece. Air stuttered in and out of her chest as she drew closer. She gulped, trying to swallow the dry lump that lodged itself in her throat like a pill.

The horse before her was, by all definitions, beautiful. Hair as black as a raven, shining like silk in the sunlight. Its tail flicked when flies lingered on its haunches for too long, but otherwise it seemed fairly calm. But that meant nothing to Blair. Every flick of the tail, shift of a hoof upon the ground, or turn of its head made her flinch. With each step the phantom pain of the bite seared against the exposed scar on her right shoulder. This was stupid. She was stupid.

"Good horse. Nice horse," she whispered as she slowly climbed the step stool that sat to the left of the mare. Blair reached for the back and horn of the saddle with so much caution that there was a very real possibility dinner would be served before she even mounted the creature. The trembling in her hands was so violent that it reverberated through the leather of the saddle causing the horse to side step uneasily.

Justine was there in an instant, taking the animal’s reins and hushing it with gentle, rhythmic strokes along its snout. "Breathe. She can sense you're scared and it's making her anxious."

"She’s anxious?" Blair snapped in a sharp whisper, nostrils flaring with indignation.

"Come on. Get out of your head… You’re halfway there."

Blair blinked rapidly, turning back toward the horse as she sucked in a shallow breath. She clenched her hands into tight fists trying to temper the trembles before reaching out to secure a hold on the saddle. Another breath, then she lifted her left foot and slid it into the stirrup until it caught on the heel of her boot. Her eyes darted back over to Justine with frightened confusion like all sense had left her mind and she had no clue what to do next.

"Good," she reassured her with a wide smile and a small nod. "Now just put all your weight on that foot and swing your other leg over."

"Yeah… I don’t know if I can do that."

"You’ve mounted a lot of guys, right?" Justine mused with a playfully sinister grin. "It’s not that different."

Blair actually snorted out a small laugh, unable to fight the smile that teased at the corners of her mouth. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Yeah, alright. Touché." Before she could overthink it, or talk herself out of it like she nearly had with everything else, she did as instructed.

Her hands tightened around the leather of the saddle, leaning forward as she shifted all of her weight onto her left foot. The horse adjusted and she held her breath, but she didn’t move when she caught Justine’s reassuring nod from her peripherals. Blair straightened her left leg and at the same time she swung her right over the back of the horse until she straddled its back. There was a second where she struggled to find the stirrup, but another one of her siblings stepped up and guided her foot into place.

"Ok… now sit."

Blair exhaled deeply through her nose, shooting Justine a cutting sidelong glance before she slowly lowered herself until her butt rested firmly on the curve of the saddle. She still balanced her weight between her feet and where she sat for a moment longer before finally letting herself settle properly, if not uneasily. She had planned to give it five, maybe ten seconds, and then she had every intention of climbing down and promptly having a panic attack in the strawberry fields. But before the thought could fully manifest, Justine was holding up the reins toward her with an expectant smile.

"You’re fucking joking," Blair rebutted, almost laughing in a stunned disbelief.

"You’re already up there. Might as well go all the way," Justine replied, her smile widening as she wiggled the leather straps teasingly.

"This was your plan the whole time." Blair swallowed, reluctantly yanking the reins from the girl’s grasp.

"No comment," she mused, patting the mare on its haunches before walking to the next stall over and mounting her own horse. "We’ll do one slow lap around the corral and then you’re free." Justine raised her right hand, then made a show of crossing her heart. "Scouts honor."

Blair scoffed. "Yeah… I don’t believe you." Her gaze then fell to the horse beneath her. She leaned forward, her right hand trembling as she hesitantly stroked its mane. "Please don’t eat me—or kill me," she added, almost as an after thought.

It all went surprisingly well in the beginning. The horse walked at a pace that could have made a sloth look fast, which was still too fast for Blair, but she actually felt like she was getting her rhythm. By the time her and Justine reached the opposite end of the corral, Blair lost some of her tension. Her back was still rigid, but her body rocked more with the motion of each step rather than remaining stiff as a board. There was a second where she actually let herself breathe and think that maybe, just maybe, she could do this.

Then there was the sharp squeal that tore across the camp from the strawberry fields. The horse shook its head, huffing deeply through its nose. Blair’s eyes widened, knuckles whitening around the reins, and her thighs squeezed tightly to the horse’s chest. Off to her side Justine said something, but her voice was lost beneath the loud rush of blood that deafened her. Before she could think or react, the creature reared back onto its hind legs. Blair knew she shouldn’t scream, that it’d only make everything worse, but in that moment logic had been overshadowed by blinding fear. The sound tore from her, piercing, shrill, and absolutely terrified. She could feel her body slipping and forced herself to hold tighter, the only thing more horrifying than staying on a frightened horse was lying on the ground beneath it. Everything felt like it was in slow motion and Blair was witnessing her death play out frame by frame, and there was nothing she could do about it.

The horse’s hooves slammed back into the earth, and before anything could be done it took off, sprinting toward the wood slat fence of the corral. But rather than stopping or veering in circles, it launched them both clear over it and barreled toward the center of camp.

The forge breathed like a living thing by late afternoon. Heat rolled through the long hall in slow waves scented with smoke, iron, sweat, and coal ash while sunlight spilled through the tall open windows above each station in molten ribbons of gold. Every gust of wind carried the distant sounds of camp inside with it, laughter near the lake, the dull thud of swords from the arena, somebody shouting over a volleyball game, but the forge swallowed it all beneath the sharper music of hammer strikes and grinding wheels. Lanterns already hung lit from the beams overhead despite the hour, their amber glow mixing with the orange pulse of the furnaces until every surface gleamed warm and copper-rich. Rows of workstations stretched the length of the building, each one claimed and shaped by its owner over the years. Spare gears hung from nails hammered into support posts, blueprints curled beneath heavy tools, half-finished inventions cluttered corners beside mugs stained dark with coffee gone cold hours ago.

Colton had settled into his own station quicker than he ever expected. Two months ago he still jumped whenever someone shouted in ancient Greek across the hall or celestial bronze sparked too bright beneath the hammer. Now the forge felt familiar beneath his skin, as natural as the old machine shed back home where he spent summers patching fences and replacing busted tractor parts with his granddad. The leather apron tied around his waist was streaked black from soot and burn marks, and sweat dampened the collar of his gray shirt until it clung between his shoulder blades. He drew the glowing blade from the furnace with a pair of tongs and laid it across the anvil in front of him. The metal burned bright orange beneath the open air, heat shimmering around it while sweat slipped from the edge of his jaw and darkened the steel cap of his boot.

Bug sat at the station to Colton’s right with one leg folded beneath him in his chair, skinny shoulders hunched over a bronze contraption spread across three different trays. His straight dark hair kept falling into his eyes every few seconds and each time he blew it away with an irritated puff through the gap in his front teeth without ever looking up from his work. Tiny gears littered the tabletop around him like breadcrumbs. Every now and then the machine in his hands gave an angry hiss or spat sparks against his goggles while he muttered to himself under his breath.

"No, no, no—that’s not where you go, you little shit," he grumbled at a spring hardly larger than a fingernail before finally glancing sideways toward Colton. "You keep hittin’ that edge too hard and you’re gonna warp the fuller again."

Across from them Finn leaned back against her workbench with welding goggles shoved onto the top of her head and a wrench tucked through the belt loop of her jeans. The shaved sides of her head caught the forge light while the rest of her pale curls spilled wild around her shoulders, frizzing from the heat until she looked half struck by lightning herself. She was filing down the teeth of a celestial bronze axe with long patient strokes, boot tapping lazily against the floorboards in rhythm with the scrape of metal. A cigarette rested unlit behind her ear purely for aesthetic at this point; nobody had actually seen her smoke it.

"Bug says that every time you make a sword," she mused without lifting her eyes from the blade. "One day you’re gonna listen and ruin his whole week."

Colton snorted softly and lifted the hammer again. The strike rang through the forge sharp and clean, vibrating straight through his shoulders into his chest. Sparks burst gold across the anvil and vanished before they hit the floor. He adjusted his grip, steadier now, and brought the hammer down again with the kind of rhythm that settled deep into muscle memory. Back home it had been fence posts, horseshoes, busted engine parts laid out on old towels in the barn. Here it was celestial bronze and steel and weapons that hummed faintly with godly power when the light caught them right. Funny how similar it all felt in the hands anyway.

The late sunlight slanted lower as the hours wore on, pouring through the open windows in long amber bars that striped the stone floor and caught in the smoke drifting lazily toward the rafters. Outside, the tops of the pine trees swayed against a sky slowly turning honey-colored. Inside, the forge glowed brighter by the minute. Lanternlight danced across polished metal and damp skin while furnaces roared steady as thunderstorms trapped behind brick walls. Somebody farther down the hall started laughing hard enough to choke after an invention exploded with a loud pop and showered soot across half the forge. Finn shouted something obscene and Bug just grinned wider.

Colton smiled to himself before setting the sword back into the fire. The heat flushed his cheeks and painted his skin gold while sweat rolled slowly down the side of his throat beneath the open collar of his shirt. For the first time in a long while, there was no ache in his chest pulling him somewhere else, and much of his day passed in this heat soaked content haze.

The sword hissed when Colton plunged it into the oil barrel beside the anvil. Smoke curled upward in dark ribbons carrying the sharp scent of metal and burnt carbon through the warm forge air while the last of the daylight stretched thin across the floorboards. He held the blade steady beneath the surface until the violent bubbling eased, then lifted it free and turned it slowly beneath the lantern glow, inspecting the edge with tired but satisfied eyes. Sweat slipped from beneath the brim of his worn ballcap and tracked through the soot gathered along his temple. He finally set the weapon carefully atop his workbench beside a folded rag and a half-empty bottle of water that had long since gone warm.

Bug was still hunched over his latest mechanical disaster, tapping furiously at some impossibly tiny gear with a screwdriver clenched between stained fingers. Finn had abandoned her stool entirely and sat cross-legged on the worktable sharpening the edge of her axe while music crackled faintly from a battered little radio hanging near the rafters. The forge had softened with the afternoon, voices quieter now beneath the steady roar of the furnaces and the occasional ring of steel striking steel farther down the hall. Colton untied the thick leather apron from around his waist and hung it from the side of his station before dragging the hem of his shirt across his face. "I’m callin’ it before one of y’all has to scrape me off the floorboards," he drawled, breath roughened pleasantly from the heat.

Finn barked out a laugh without looking up. Bug finally glanced over with that crooked gap-toothed grin of his and wrinkled his nose dramatically. "You smelled bad three hours ago, cowboy." Colton pointed at him immediately, tired smile tugging into place despite himself.

"Yeah, well, I ain’t the one cuddlin’ machinery like it’s a girlfriend." Bug scoffed loud enough to earn a snort from Finn while Colton grabbed his sketch book beneath the bench. "I’ll see y’all at dinner," he said as he headed toward the open door, voice warm and easy beneath the fading clang of the forge. "And if the gods are merciful, I’ll smell a hell of a lot better by then."

The forge still clung to Colton when he stepped out into the late afternoon light. Heat lingered against his skin beneath a sweat-dampened white shirt, the fabric sticking between his shoulder blades while soot stained the lines of his hands and dusted faintly along his jaw. He carried his sketchbook tucked beneath one arm, thumb hooked loosely through the spiral binding while he followed the dirt trail toward the Hephaestus cabin at an unhurried pace. Somewhere near the volleyball courts kids were shouting over each other, and farther off he could hear the rhythmic clang of swords striking in the arena, but his mind had drifted home already, to feed buckets, to cicadas humming through humid evenings, to the letter he meant to write his mama before bed.

Then the scream cut across camp sharp enough to hollow the air from his lungs.

His head snapped toward the stables just as the horse cleared the fence in an explosion of dark muscle and flying dirt. Blair sat high in the saddle with terror written plain through the rigid line of her body, fingers locked white around the reins while the mare bolted wildly toward the cabins. Colton didn’t think. The sketchbook slipped from beneath his arm and hit the ground hard enough to kick dust across the grass while his boots tore into the earth. He angled himself across the horse’s path fast and low, heart hammering hard beneath his ribs as years of instinct took over before fear ever had the chance to settle in.

"Easy now—easy, girl… hey, hey, you’re alright," he called, voice deep and steady beneath the thunder of hooves. The mare tossed her head violently as he reached her, nostrils flaring wide with panic. Colton caught the reins close beneath her jaw and planted his weight hard through his legs the same way his grandfather taught him as a boy. Dirt sprayed across the legs of his jeans when she jerked sideways, but his free hand slid firmly against her neck, warm palm smoothing through the slick black mane in slow strokes.

"That’s it… there you go. Breathe for me," he murmured softly, more rhythm than words. The horse shuddered beneath his touch, sides heaving hot and fast against his arm while her ears flicked nervously between him and the chaos behind them. He kept talking anyway, voice low as creekwater over stone, patient and calm until the frantic energy finally started draining from her trembling body.

Only then did he look up at Blair. She looked ghost-pale in the sunlight, frozen so stiff in the saddle it seemed like one wrong movement might shatter her clean apart. Colton’s expression softened immediately. He loosened his hold on the reins just enough to keep the mare steady while lifting his other hand carefully toward Blair like he was approaching another frightened animal altogether.

"Hey," he said gently, breath still uneven from the sprint. "You’re alright now. She ain’t gonna throw you." His thumb continued tracing absentminded circles against the horse’s neck beneath his palm, keeping both of them grounded at once. "You did good holdin’ on like that. Most folks would’ve hit the dirt halfway through the fence."

A small smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth then, soft and crooked beneath the sweat and soot still clinging to his skin. The adrenaline had left his pulse slow and heavy now, though his chest still rose hard beneath the damp white cotton stretched across it. Behind them camp had started stirring again, voices shouting from the stables, footsteps pounding across the grass, but Colton hardly noticed. His attention stayed fixed on Blair and the way her hands still trembled around the reins. "Hard part’s over," he reassured quietly. "Now all you gotta do is breathe, want me to help you down?"

It was all a blur of green and shouting and demigods jumping out of the way before they were trampled under hooves. Blair was frozen on the saddle like a statue, legs squeezing that frightened creature tight while holding the reins like her life depended on it—because it very well could. She somehow caught her bearings just enough to see Colton step into their path. She wanted to call out to him, to tell him to move, but her throat was a vacuum, swallowing all sound before it broke free. But he didn’t stand down, didn’t back away, instead facing the horse head on without fear. He had a calm strength that might have eased her alongside the creature if all logic and thought hadn’t been left behind in the stables. His voice was warm and reassuring, piercing through fear that seized her.

When the horse finally stopped moving, Blair drew in air so sharp and raw that it sounded like she had nearly drowned and was gasping for her first breath after breaking the surface. Her chest started heaving erratically as the hyperventilating quickly took root, stealing away her autonomy before she could grasp it. Black hair, no longer pulled back in a slick ponytail, fell knotted and wild around her face. Loose strands clung to the damp streaks that ran down her cheeks. She blinked rapidly, eyes red, burning, and dry from the whip of the wind and the tears that burst free without her knowing.

Her hands remained white as death, clutching tight to the reins like the single piece of reality that kept her from spiralling into a full panic. Blair heard his words and his question that was offered in earnest. She could feel the concern that laced his words even if she couldn’t will her body to move or even spare a glance in his direction. Her body shook so violently that her teeth rattled and her muscles ached. Her eyes snapped shut, breathing heavily through her nose as she tried to force herself to regain some kind of control… anything. Then with whatever willpower she could muster, she managed to nod her head up and down with a frantic urgency. There was no way in hell she could think straight enough to answer him properly, let alone climb down from that demon without things getting a million times worse.

Before Colton could offer her a hand, fast approaching hooves made her flinch and recoil, as if her horse had taken off all over again. The ache in her shoulder flared at the sound with renewed vigor, as if she needed another reminder why this was quite possibly one of the worst moments of her life. She was pressured into doing something she didn’t want to, something she had sworn off since the moment she set foot in camp. Blair had told herself she was no longer going to bend to the whims of others, not when she was given a second chance to… figure out who she was. Yet there she sat, repeating her same mistakes for the sake of other people, and somehow she was the only one burned.

"Blair!" Justine’s voice rang out across the small clearing near the cabins, cutting through the whispers of gathered and gawking campers. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—I didn’t think—"

Blair tensed, her fingers curled so tightly into her palms that it left behind small bleeding crescents that pooled crimson beneath her nails. She turned her head away, hiding her face beneath her wild black mane as another tear fell down her cheek. That was one of the most terrifying experiences of her life. She felt betrayed by a sister who promised her safety, even though it was her weak backbone that gave in. But more than that, she was mortified… embarrassed that all of camp saw her terrified and crying and completely out of control. And still, her body was frozen, unable to move as the fear clung to her fierce and unrelenting.

Colton saw the way her hands locked around the reins hard enough to shake. Her knuckles had gone bone-white beneath the dirt smeared across her skin, fingers pulled so tight they looked frozen there, trapped somewhere between instinct and terror. He moved slowly when he reached for her, careful in the same way he approached wounded animals after storms back home. His broad hands settled gently over hers, warm from the forge and roughened by hours at the anvil, and he eased the leather from her grip inch by inch before she could carve her palms apart. "Easy now," he murmured softly. "You don’t gotta hold on so tight anymore."

The mare shifted beneath them with a nervous flick of her ears, but Colton kept one hand steady against her neck while the other slipped carefully toward Blair’s waist. He barely hesitated before lifting her down from the saddle entirely. She felt frighteningly light beneath his hands, rigid with fear and trembling hard enough he could feel it through the thin fabric of her clothes. Her boots touched the dirt unevenly and he guided her instinctively between himself and the horse, broad shoulders turning to shield her from the growing crowd gathering nearby. Campers stood whispering in little clusters around the clearing, eyes bright with curiosity in that awful way people stared at accidents they were relieved hadn’t happened to them.

If Blair had her senses about her, she might have called him her knight in shining armor, commented on his soot streaked face that was somehow more attractive when disheveled, or maybe her stomach might have managed a single somersault when his hand found her waist. There probably would have been a mention about his muscles in the way that made the tips of his ears redden, but in that moment he wasn’t something for her to objectify, he was the only lifeline offered to her while the rest of camp watched and whispered.

Her shaking hands gripped tightly—probably too tightly—to his upper arm as she lifted her leg to the other side of the saddle, then let him bring her down. Her knees felt like jello when her feet touched the ground. Balir teetered uneasily, clinging to him with the sort of desperation that the world might unravel around her if she let go. She moved without thought, letting Colton guide her easily without complaint. Her body instinctually drifted closer, nearly folding herself into his chest if only to hide herself from everyone else. She stood close enough that she could smell the saltiness of sweat and oil that still clung to his skin. It was dirty and grounding, and for whatever reason it slowly rooted her in reality, helping her breaths come slower, and more measured.

"Justine," he started, voice low with a strain of reproach that sat heavier than outright anger ever could. "I think she needs a little space right now. Why don’t you handle—" His words cut short when his eyes landed fully on the horse beside him. He blinked once, frowned, then looked again. "You gave her Midnight?" The disbelief came fast and raw. He stared at the mare like the answer might somehow change if he looked long enough. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

The clearing quieted around them. Colton shook his head slowly, stunned frustration pulling hard across his face while Midnight tossed her head uneasily beside him. "Didn’t you see the red flag on her stall?" he asked sharply. "Nobody’s supposed to be ridin’ her yet. She ain’t broke in, Justine. Hell, she barely trusts half the folks workin’ with her." Midnight’s sides still heaved from the sprint. Colton glanced toward one of the older Ares boys standing nearby with guilt written plain across his expression, he’d been the one working with Midnight the longest. "Take her back before she spooks again." The son of Ares moved immediately, murmuring apologies while carefully leading the mare away toward the stables.

Blair blinked, tilted her head back with faint confusion, unsure if she had truly just heard Colton cuss or if she was still lost beneath some fear stricken haze. She couldn’t see his face, not fully. Her gaze caught on the sharp edge of his jaw and the muscle tensed along it as he spoke. The way he came to her defense, chastising the people who put her in that predicament, it made something traitorous burn in her chest. It was stupid, childish, a strange sort of feeling she never let herself have. Yet it remained, more glaring and startling than the tremors that still racked her body. She peeled her gaze away from him, focusing on a small tear in his shirt rather than anything else. She was obviously delusional after a traumatic event. That was the only logical answer.

Only once the horse disappeared did Colton finally look back toward Blair. She still trembled in small uneven waves when he wrapped his arm around her, face half-hidden behind tangled dark hair while tears streaked quietly down her cheeks. Something in his chest pulled painfully at the sight of it. Not pity exactly, but something gentler. Softer. He knew what real fear looked like, how it caused you to shake long after the danger passed because your bodies hadn’t caught up yet to your mind.

"C’mon, Blair," he said quietly, voice dropping back into that warm southern drawl that felt steady as worn leather. "I’ll walk you back to your cabin… or the infirmary." He didn’t wait for Justine to answer or apologize again. His attention never left Blair as he carefully guided her away from the clearing, arm secure around her shoulders while they moved slowly down the dirt path together.

She sighed heavily, faint calmness laced deep beneath the fear and adrenalin that lingered long after her feet were back upon solid ground and logic had regained control of her senses. Blair melted against his side, her stubborn independence wavering for once, letting Colton be her anchor with his arm firmly around her shoulders. He had barely finished speaking when she shook her head in protest, wild black hair bouncing around her face. "I don’t want to be around people," she confessed, voice hoarse and raw from the scream that tore at her throat. Her cabin would be teaming with Athena kids apologizing and smothering, and she didn’t need the infirmary, didn’t want the stress of people worrying over her. She looked up at him with wide, bloodshot brown eyes that begged for him not to drag her to either… but there was also a quieter plea that he wouldn’t leave her alone either.

Something in Colton’s expression softened the moment she looked up at him like that. The panic still clung to her in quiet ways now, shaking hands, red rimmed eyes, breaths that caught unevenly in her chest, but beneath it sat exhaustion, raw and tender as scraped skin. He understood that feeling better than most people probably realized. Back home, after storms rolled through hard enough to splinter trees and send cattle through broken fencing, there were always animals that needed quiet more than noise, stillness more than fixing. Colton gave a small nod and adjusted his arm around her shoulders carefully. "Alright," he murmured gently. "No people."

As they walked, he spotted his sketchbook discarded in the grass near the churned dirt where Midnight had finally stopped. Colton bent to retrieve it with his free hand, brushing soil and bent blades of grass from the worn leather cover with his thumb. The metallic spine had picked up a fresh scratch from where it struck the ground and his mouth twisted faintly at the sight of it. It had been the first thing his father ever gave him, even if it came in silence and smoke and divine understanding instead of words.

"Sorry, dad," he muttered absently to the book beneath his breath before tucking it safely beneath his arm once more. Then he guided Blair away from the cabins entirely, steering them toward the edge of the woods where the sounds of camp slowly thinned behind them into distant echoes.

Blair hovered nearby. Her gaze trailed after him, falling to the discarded book as he cleaned it with a quiet sort of reverence, before looking up just in time to find the small grimace that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Guilt knotted in her stomach knowing that whatever was wrong with it, whatever had befallen the book was for the sake of her safety. She knew it was silly, valuing some object above her own wellbeing, but knowing that she was the cause of that troubled expression that weighed heavy on his face… Well, she had almost wished that damn horse drowned her in the lake. He returned to her side and for one split second she nearly apologized, but the words snagged in her throat knowing Colton wouldn’t accept it anyway, he'd say it wasn’t her fault or something else like she was more important than some book… and she didn’t know if her conscience could handle him being so frustratingly understanding and charming.

The trail was narrow and overgrown from neglect, more deer path than proper walkway at points, with tall grass brushing against their legs and low branches bowing lazily overhead. Golden light filtered through the canopy in fractured ribbons that painted the forest floor amber and green while cicadas hummed steadily somewhere deeper in the trees. Colton led her carefully around thick roots and muddy patches without rushing her once, his pace slow enough that she could keep breathing through the lingering tremors still working through her body. "Found this place my first week here," he said quietly after a while, voice low beneath the rustle of leaves. "When camp got too loud."

The trees finally opened without warning.

Water stretched before them in a slow winding stream wide enough to almost pass for a river, dark glass broken softly by drifting lily pads and pale pink blooms resting atop the surface. Willow branches spilled low along the banks in long green curtains that swayed gently in the breeze, their reflections trembling across the current below. Near the edge sat an old dock weathered silver with age, several boards warped and sinking unevenly toward the water where moss crept thick between the cracks. Beside it floated a little white rowboat tethered loosely to one of the posts. The paint peeled in soft curls along the sides and one oar didn’t quite match the other, but fresh nails gleamed along the repaired ribs and the wood had been sanded smooth recently by careful hands.

Colton smiled faintly at the sight of it, some quieter piece of him settling the moment the water came into view. The stream moved steadily northward beneath the lilies, carrying fallen leaves slowly through the shadows while dragonflies skimmed low across the surface in flashes of blue and gold. Trees crowded close along both banks until the waterway looked hidden entirely from the rest of the world, tucked away beneath willow branches and soft light.

Blair had remained close behind, following in his footsteps as much as she could, although his stride, even when taking his time, was far longer than her own. Her knees hadn’t quite found their strength again and more than once she found herself tripping on a tree root or misstepping on uneven earth. But before she could fall on her face or stumble forward, his hand was always there… steady, patient, and secure. Somewhere around what she could only guess was halfway, she swallowed the last bit of dignity she was clinging desperately to and slipped her hand around his without ever asking, or giving him the chance to offer. It was only to save him from continuously sparing her concerned glances over his shoulder or jumping to her aid whenever it became apparent she had never actually hiked through the woods before… No other reason.

When they stepped out of the treeline, Blair froze, stopping dead in her tracks, fingers slipping from his grasp as he continued forward. Her eyes widened, taking in the view like someone who had never seen something as beautiful as a hidden creek in the woods… because honestly, she hadn’t. Nature and wildlife weren’t abundant in New York. If she wanted greenery and plants, they came in pots on balconies or lived within the confines of Central Park. The Carmichaels didn’t go on vacations to national parks or natural wonders of the world, they went to international epicenters for trade deals under the guise of ‘family time.’ Camp Half-Blood had been a culture shock for her when she arrived a year ago, and this little piece of simple splendor was somehow so much more.

"I didn’t know nature could be so… beautiful," she whispered more to herself, or perhaps the nature in question that surrounded her. Blair had seen it in movies and pictures, but it wasn’t the same. Images couldn’t capture the warmth of the sun against her skin, or the rustle of leaves as the wind whipped through the trees and tousled her hair, or the scent of fresh water and dirt that somehow smelled better than any candle or perfume. It was ridiculous and so painfully simple, yet she looked at it with wonder like a kid visiting Disney World for the first time. Sure, she could do without the mosquitoes eating her arms alive, the humidity that clung to her skin like a film of sweat, or the fly that kept buzzing near her ear… but for what might have actually been the first time in her life, she found herself stopping to smell the proverbial roses.

She didn’t follow him toward the dock, not yet. Instead her feet carried her toward the edge of the water where a pink lily danced along the sparkling ripples, twirling closer to shore. Blair crouched down, her knees tucking in close to her chest as she reached out to capture the flower. The tips of her fingers had just brushed the closest petal when her gaze fell to the small crescents carved into her palms and the dried blood along her skin. The beauty of the moment shattered in a single beat. She withdrew slowly, letting the flower continue downstream as if she would only diminish its allure by holding it within her marred hands.

Blair drew in a sharp breath, then plunged her hands into the creek. The coolness of the water was startling, but also grounding, helping clear the last bit of fog that hovered around the edges of her mind and ease the last tremors from her fingers. She ran her thumb along one palm, slowly working the dried blood from her skin until all that remained was four crescents carved into her flesh. She took her time doing the same to the other hand, then unceremoniously curled her fingers into a bowl and splashed her face with water. The chill sent a shiver down her spine, but she hardly noticed. She wanted to wipe the dirt and tears from her face, like maybe the fear and embarrassment could wash away downstream like that lone flower. Droplets trickled down her neck and dampened the collar of her tanktop, but she didn’t care. Her hands slipped beneath the surface one last time, dampening her skin so that she could tame some of her wild hair and push it back out of her face.

She felt entirely out of her element… no makeup, drenched in creek water, wearing designer clothes caked in dirt and stable stink, and somehow it didn’t fucking matter. Not today. Not after nearly dying on the back of a horse. Not when this one quiet moment and gentle act seemed to be the only thing holding her together.

The water gathered in her palms and slipped through her fingers in glittering streams while she scrubbed blood and dirt from her skin with quiet determination. Colton’s gaze caught on the small crescents left behind in her palms and his jaw tightened faintly at the sight of them. She’d held those reins hard enough to hurt herself before she let go. Even now he could still remember how violently she’d been shaking atop Midnight, eyes wide and terrified beneath the sunlight.

Now she knelt at the creek’s edge surrounded by curtains of willow branches and tall summer grass that swayed softly along the banks. The current caught the lowering sunlight and threw shifting fractures of gold across her bare skin, scattering over the line of her throat and the fabric at her shoulders. Pink flowers floated quietly between the lily pads in front of her, delicate things resting atop the dark water, but his eyes kept returning to her instead. Dirt streaked her jeans, face free of any makeup, and loose dark hair spilled around her face in tangled waves from the wind and the ride. Still, she looked prettier sitting there in the light than anything else the creek had managed to provide.

Colton stepped carefully onto the old dock first, testing the boards out of habit before turning back toward Blair. He held one roughened hand out toward her, patient and warm beneath the fading glow of evening. "It’s stable," he promised softly, glancing toward the little boat rocking gently against the dock. "I can show you my favorite place… if you feel up to it."

Blair tucked her damp hair behind her ears and finally made her way over toward the dock. Her dark eyes lifted from watching every step she took to meet his expectant gaze and for the first moment since she set foot in the stables… she smiled. It was faint, tired, and only curled on one side, but it was also genuine, laced with a quiet gratitude she didn’t know how to put into words. She lifted her hand and slowly slipped her water-chilled fingers along the rough callouses that covered his palm. "Don’t worry, I swim better than I ride horses," she mused, actually managing a lighthearted joke punctuated with a soft and slightly frayed laugh.

She stepped forward onto one of the warped boards and then another until she stood less than a foot in front of him. Her head tilted back slightly, squinting as the sun cast warm light across her face. Blair lifted her free hand to shield her eyes as she held his gaze. "Are you sure I’m the person you want to share this with?" she asked. And while there was a soft sort of playfulness in her tone, somewhere behind it was the certainty that Colton was wasting this on her. But there was also something else, something deeper and hidden beneath the self doubt… a quiet desire for him to want to share it with her.

Colton’s grin came easy then, brightening his whole face in a way the forge soot and sweat couldn’t dull. The sight of her smiling back at him, even tired and fragile around the edges, tugged something warm loose in his chest. He tightened his fingers gently around hers and steadied the little boat with his other hand while she stepped aboard. The dock creaked beneath their shifting weight and water bumped softly against the worn wood below. "Of course," he answered without hesitation, voice carrying that low southern warmth that always seemed to settle around her instead of pressing in.

The boat pitched beneath her weight, swaying from the steady push of the current and her own complete lack of balance. Blair’s fingers tightened around his while her other hand quickly found his shoulder, trusting his stability and strength more than her own two legs. Colton’s answer came easily, with that surprising earnestness he always seemed to offer openly around her. The rowboat rocked beneath her as if mirroring the strange stirring of emotions that knotted in her chest… definitely not because it was her own doing, or that her body was in as much disbelief as her mind. She laughed awkwardly, looking down at the wood beneath her feet rather than letting him see the warmth she felt creeping along her cheeks. "It’s a little smaller than the boats I’m used to," she confessed, quickly planting her butt on one of the seats, before slowly slipping her fingers from his grasp.

Once she was seated, Colton bent to untie the rope looped around the dock post. The fibers rasped against his palm before falling loose into the boat beside her feet. He stepped in after her carefully, broad shoulders balancing the shift of weight so the rowboat only rocked once before settling again atop the current. His sketchbook rested against the floorboards between them, and Colton picked up the oars and pushed them smoothly through the water, guiding the boat upstream at an easy pace while lily pads drifted past the sides in clusters of green and pale pink.

The creek narrowed gradually ahead of them, tree branches crowding closer overhead until the water looked stitched through the woods in ribbons of gold and shadow. Willow branches skimmed the surface beside them and dragonflies darted low across the current in quick flashes of blue. Colton glanced up at her over the slow pull of the oars, curiosity softening his expression. "You really haven’t seen anything like this before?" he asked gently. There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in it, just honest surprise. "I grew up around places like this. Creeks, trails, old fishing spots out behind the property."

He smiled faintly to himself as he rowed, gaze drifting briefly toward the water ahead. Evening light stretched across his face in warm amber bands while the current whispered beneath the boat. "My brother used to climb every tree he saw like he thought gravity was negotiable," he said with a quiet laugh under his breath. "Mama hated it. Swore one day he was gonna crack his skull open fallin’ into a creek." The memory lingered gently in his voice, but something subtle had changed, something sad flickering across his face before he looked back toward Blair again. "Guess I just kinda figured everybody had a place like this somewhere."

Blair tucked her hands beneath her thighs, pinning them gently between denim and old worn wood. While her attention caught on the shimmer of dragonfly wings or a flower that floated past them down stream, her gaze always found its way back to Colton. The warmth of his smile slowly eased the last bit of tension that tightened across her shoulders, and calmed her in a way that was startling. It was like the more comfortable he made her and the less she worried about looking or acting a certain way around him, the more her heart raced and her stomach flipped, like she was reaching the top of a rollercoaster and she didn’t know what was waiting for her on the other side. It was scary and exciting, but she didn’t stop or turn back because she knew whatever was over that hill… he was there too.

Her smile softened and grew a little brighter as she listened to him talk about his home. If she closed her eyes, it was almost like Blair could see it… in a Hallmark sort of way. Colton truly was every woman’s Nicholas Sparks fantasy personified, from his easy southern charm, all the way down to that ridiculously handsome face, soot covered and all. It was unfair really, like the Gods specifically sent him there to test her resolve and desire to change. But it was more than that, she wanted to be better. She didn’t want to take advantage of him or treat him like a piece of meat. He was better than that and deserved better than that, but she also knew with striking clarity that he deserved more than whatever she could give him… as a friend, because that’s what they were… friends.

She shook her head in silent response to his question, followed by a faint shrug of her shoulders. "I grew up in Manhattan. I was surrounded by concrete and skyscrapers," Blair answered quietly, as if speaking too loud would disrupt the gentle balance of nature around them. "Central Park is pretty… in the same way a caged animal at the zoo is. There’s beauty but… it’s confined and controlled, not really allowed to be free and flourish like it should." She leaned to her left, looking over the edge of the boat as she dipped her fingers beneath the rippling surface of the water. "Although, to be fair, I don’t think I ever cared to really go looking for it either," she added, sparing him a sidelong glance and a guilty smile.

Blair lingered there for a moment, in the silence, watching fish swim beneath her fingers rather than letting her traitorous gaze drift toward the flex of Colton's muscles as he pulled the oars. She wiggled her fingers beneath the cool water once more before slowly sitting back upright and tucking wild black hair behind her ears. "I learned to swim in pools that stunk of chemicals, never swam in creeks or lakes. I didn’t play in the dirt or climb trees. Hell—" she sighed, lightly slapping her hands against her thighs, "—I’ve never lived somewhere where I could see the stars at night beyond the light pollution. I know they’re there. I’ve been to a planetarium, but I’ve never seen them with my own eyes." Her smile saddened a little at the realization, never really having given it much thought before then. She managed to see a couple stars since arriving at camp but Long Island was still too close to New York… Maybe someday though.

"Honestly, Camp Half-Blood is the first place I’ve been where the nights are quiet." She paused, then laughed, something lighter and far more unburdened than it had any right to be after what she had just been through. "Well, not really," Blair corrected with a quiet snort. "The bugs are so fucking loud. And the frogs." She rolled her eyes and shook her head in playful disbelief. "I had no idea nature could be so damn loud."

Colton listened with the oars moving in slow, even pulls through the water. Wood dipped beneath the surface with a soft shhhk, then rose trailing silver ribbons that slipped back into the creek behind them. He tried to picture skyscrapers pressing in on every side, windows stacked above windows until they swallowed the sky whole. Tried to imagine stars hidden away somewhere overhead like forgotten things. The image sat awkwardly in his mind. He knew fence posts and gravel roads and old rusted mailboxes leaning sideways at the end of long drives. He knew fields stretching so far the horizon looked soft around the edges.

His eyes drifted back toward Blair as she spoke. Late afternoon had settled warmly across the creek now, turning the water honey-gold where sunlight found openings between the trees. Loose strands of dark hair shifted around her face every time the breeze wandered through the boat. Dirt still streaked faintly across her jeans from the stables and a flush lingered high across her cheeks. He thought suddenly of what she'd said about Central Park, beauty trimmed back and boxed in, something guided into shape until it forgot how much room it was supposed to take up.

The words left before he had the chance to hold onto them. "You're beautiful."

The oars slowed. Heat climbed into Colton's face almost instantly and he looked down toward the water with a small wince pulling at one corner of his mouth. "I just—" A sheepish laugh escaped him beneath his breath. "I've seen you all dressed up at campfires and stuff, and when y'all go on trips..." His eyes lifted back toward her again, honest and open in a way that made lying seem impossible. "But right now..." He smiled faintly. "I think you're the prettiest girl in the whole world."

Blair’s attention had been on the changing nature around them, following the rich amber wings of a monarch butterfly resting upon a lily and the swishing tail of a squirrel as it scurried up the trunk of a tree that extended out halfway over the water. She hadn’t noticed him watching her, so when Colton’s words carried across the small distance between them, it stole her breath from her lungs, escaping in a quiet gasp that vanished beneath the gentle slap of water against the boat. Her gaze found him instantly, catching the redness that tinged his cheeks beneath sweat streaked soot. She blinked slowly, half dazed at the ease and sincerity of the compliment. It wasn’t like she had never been called pretty… but not like that. He didn’t say it for any other reason than because, at that moment, he couldn’t contain it.

For what was likely the first time ever in her life, Blair was at a loss for words. She never was the type to be bashful, yet heat settled quickly across the tops of her cheeks, more pink than the flowers that floated down stream, while her heart raced nearly as fast as it had when she sat on that horse. Her hands sat in her lap, absently twirling her ring around her right index finger as if she needed some outlet for all the nervous energy that crashed into her all at once. Her gaze fell to her hands, because looking into his eyes and seeing that damn smile of his made her knees go weak. She needed to regain her senses and stop acting like a silly girl with a crush on a man so entirely out of her league that it was almost painful.

The circular center of her ring slowly spun beneath her finger, then curled up the side, and lingered just out of view. For a fleeting second her own curiosity and a need to prove herself wrong took hold. Her gaze ran along the dirt stained denim that clung to her knees, crept up the side of her hand, before finding the colorful gem of her mood ring as it slipped into place on top of her finger. A purple, rich and vibrant like an eggplant, engulfed the center of the stone. Happiness. That much she could tell for herself. But then, just along the edges, was the faintest hint of pink. Her other hand quickly clapped down on it, hiding the stone out of view before she could overthink, fixate, or panic… Because she totally wasn’t doing that already or tempted to double check because she was obviously seeing things. Right. That was the only logical answer.

The creek carried them deeper beneath drooping willow branches and flowering trees that arched overhead in curtains of white and lavender blooms. Petals drifted lazily onto the water and spun away with the current around clusters of lily pads. Two ducks glided past the side of the boat with tiny ripples spreading behind them while a little duckling paddled furiously to keep up. Nearby a turtle surfaced beside a broad green lily pad, blinking slowly toward them before disappearing beneath the dark water once more. "Think you'd like it up north," Colton said after a moment, his voice softening around the thought. "Less bugs. Quieter nights." He smiled to himself. "And the stars..."

Her eyes lifted slowly, and while the flush still clung stubbornly to her skin, Blair found it easier to meet his gaze. And despite every other warring emotion that churned in her chest like a hurricane, her smile returned, small, warm, and sincere. "I’d like to see the stars someday. Just… lay out a blanket and try to spot the constellations." Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "Or make up my own, because whoever said Aries looks like a ram was obviously high," she added with a soft, unguarded laugh that creased at the corners of her eyes and crinkled her nose.

A grin spread slowly across his face until he finally ducked his head and laughed beneath his breath. "Poor Aries," he murmured, shaking his head. "Been catchin' strays for somethin' they did a couple thousand years ago." His eyes lifted back toward her then, and the smile stayed there, smaller now, gentler around the edges. "I'd like that too."

A low sound began to roll through the distance then. Water. The farther they drifted, the louder it grew. The trees parted slowly around them and the creek widened into deep glassy water where fish flickered beneath the surface in flashes of silver and gold. Moss covered the rocks ahead in thick emerald patches while water spilled down dark stone in bright ribbons, breaking apart and gathering itself again before crashing gently below. Mist drifted across the river in cool soft clouds that carried the scent of wet stone and river moss through the air. Colton rested the oars inside the boat and looked up toward the flowering trees hanging along the banks.

"The trees aren't from around here," he said quietly, like this was a sacred place that deserved respect. "Been trying to figure that out, I’ve asked around some, but no one knows if they were a gift to one of the nymphs, or maybe from a god to their favored child." His fingers slipped into the cool water beside the boat and disappeared beneath a cluster of lily pads. When he lifted his hand again, a pink water lily rested in his palm with droplets gathering along its petals. He turned it once between his fingers before leaning forward carefully, reaching up to tuck it gently behind Blair's ear.

His hand lingered for half a second. "There," he said softly, and his smile returned, small and warm as the sun. "Looks better there than it did on the water."

Blair lifted her head, her gaze following his toward the trees that hugged the edges of the water. Whenever a soft gust of wind cut through the trees, the branches rustled and flowers broke free, slowly gliding through the air like feathers until the current caught them. White and pink petals fluttered about like nature’s confetti, hovering dangerously close to the creek before another breeze swept them higher up into the trees. She wasn’t much of a botanist, but she still studied the flowers and bark with rising curiosity, like maybe she could solve the puzzle if focused hard enough.

But then rough, calloused fingers brushed her cheek, pulling a startled gasp from her lips as she looked back to find Colton so close she had forgotten to breathe. A droplet of cool water slipped from a petal and trickled down her cheek as he nestled the flower behind her ear. There was a subconscious magnetism that made her want to lean into his touch, like her body hadn’t known until that very moment how much she was starved for touch, not lustful or sexual, but gentle and intimate in a way she had never experienced before. Blair wanted to smack herself because of how ridiculous she was acting, like she had never been alone with an attractive man before… because she had. But she was also becoming increasingly, and frustratingly aware of how entirely different this was. Because Colton was different… different from everyone.

"You’re making it very difficult not to fall in love with you, cowboy." The words slipped free before she had a chance to fully understand or register what she was saying. They were meant to be delivered like a joke, where her own childish emotions were the punchline. But instead they were quiet, more like a whispered confession that fell between them like the flowers dropping from the trees. Her smile still lingered despite it, shifting to something a little less certain, but persistent nonetheless. Then she laughed, a bit awkward and frayed around the edges, as her gaze fell to that pesky streak of dirt across her knee. "I, obviously, must have hit my head," she mused, poorly attempting to sweep away her confession beneath her usual sarcasm.

Colton looked at her after the words left her mouth, and for a second he forgot how to breathe. The boat drifted gently beneath them while the creek carried petals along its surface in soft little spirals. Above them, flowering branches stirred in the evening breeze, scattering pale blooms through ribbons of sunlight that filtered down between the leaves. One landed against the edge of the boat and rested there for a moment before slipping soundlessly back into the water.

His eyes stayed on her. The uncertain smile still lingered on her lips, though he caught the way her gaze dropped afterward, how she suddenly found interest in the streak of dirt across her knee. It tugged something quietly inside his chest. He knew enough by now to see when Blair hid behind jokes and sarcasm, when words stepped in front of feelings like they were trying to shield each other from the world. He thought about letting it pass, thought about smiling and teasing her back, but his body had already made the choice before his mind caught up.

His hand moved across the space between them slowly, giving her every chance to pull away before his rough fingers brushed the back of hers. Her skin felt cool from the creek water and impossibly soft beneath his calloused palm, smooth where tiny forge burns and old scrapes marked his own hands. He turned his hand and threaded his fingers loosely through hers, holding on gently instead of tightly. The corners of his mouth lifted as warmth crept steadily into his cheeks, leaving a faint pink flush beneath the soot dusted across his skin. "I don't think that'd be the worst fate," he said quietly.

Blair didn’t look up when the boat shifted under his movement. There were about a million different things Colton could have said or done, but for whatever reason, the last thing she expected was for his hand to reach for hers. It wasn’t the first time their hands had touched, and not even the first she had held his hand… but it was different. His fingers didn’t just rest on top of hers, but curled around her palm before lacing through her fingers. Her lips parted, drawing in a soft, startled breath, but she did not move or pull away. She blinked slowly before looking up at him from beneath long dark lashes, catching a glimpse of the warmth that bloomed across his face beneath the soot. Her smile softened at the sight and a quiet laugh blossomed after his comment. There was a fleeting thought to follow it with another joke at her own expense, but for once she chose not to cheapen emotions or dilute the charged silence between them.

The words settled between them while water rushed softly over the distant rocks ahead. Colton looked toward the waterfall where ribbons of white spilled down moss-covered stone and mist drifted lazily over the creek in cool silver clouds. Then his eyes found Blair again, and his expression softened in that easy way it always seemed to around her. His thumb brushed once across the back of her hand, absent and warm beneath the hanging flowers overhead. "Are you feelin' better?" he asked gently.

Her hand felt small and fragile compared to his as her fingers subconsciously curled around his. It felt surprisingly natural despite the difference, like that was where her hand belonged, secure and safe within his grasp, mirroring the way he had treated her since the moment they met. With each passing moment that his touch lingered, her posture eased and the uncertainty in her smile slipped away. When he spoke a second time, Blair was finally able to lift her eyes to meet his gaze, warmth still tightened and stirred in her chest, but she hid from it a little less. She nodded her head before responding, causing her wild black hair to brush across her shoulders and bounce around her face. "Yeah," she replied. Her thumb lightly tapped against the side of his hand before continuing as her usual bright and playful smile slowly returned. "It helps having Prince Charming on speed dial."

Blair let her attention drift over toward the waterfall while the events of the day replayed in her mind. Somehow it both felt like it happened a lifetime ago, and five minutes earlier, living in a haze that shifted between stark clarity and fog depending on the moment. Although the one thing that stuck out more than everything else was him, how he rushed to her aid, then defended and shielded her from the rest of camp. Her thoughts clipped onto a specific moment and before she could help herself, her head spun back around to face him with a bright curiosity and amusement. "I didn’t know you cussed," she whispered, leaning toward him slightly like they were sharing a secret. "I guess I’ve never seen you mad either…" she added as her head lulled slightly to one side.

Then, because Blair was never the type to shy away from her own breed of brazen compliments, she continued, like it was gravely important that he understood the effect he had. "It was hot when you got all… angry and protective," she mused with a guilty little laugh and a shrug. "I wasn’t the only one who noticed. I saw the way the other girls were looking at you. You effectively quadrupled your sex appeal within a single day… You know, as if half of camp wasn’t already frothing at the mouth over you." Her smile persisted, but as the weight of her words fully registered, her brows furrowed slightly and her gaze dropped to that same streak of dirt. She hadn’t thought about it much before, but she had noticed the whispers and lingering glances that follow Colton around camp. It made sense, he was quite possibly the most attractive man she had ever met, but… It wasn’t until she laid it out so simply that she noticed the small knot that tightened in her stomach at the thought of other girls looking at him in the same way.

Colton listened while she talked, the smile at the corner of his mouth growing little by little until it settled there fully. The waterfall breathed in the distance and flower petals drifted lazily around the boat, spinning across the current before disappearing beneath drooping willow branches. Her hand still rested inside his, small movements of her thumb brushing against his skin in absent little rhythms he was becoming painfully aware of. Then she mentioned the other girls and he blinked, a soft crease pulling between his brows as though she had pointed out something obvious he somehow missed entirely.

He looked at her for a second before a quiet laugh slipped out of him, warm and low beneath the sound of moving water. His shoulders rose slightly beneath the motion and he ducked his head, almost embarrassed by the answer before he gave it. "To be honest..." he said slowly, uncertainty brushing through his voice. "I never really noticed." His eyes lifted back toward hers and the honesty there sat easy and open. "I was always too busy lookin' at you."

Blair’s gaze lifted once again, looking over at him from beneath long lashes, dark wild hair, and the damp flower petals that pressed against her temple. Her mouth scrunched in that way where she was trying to lessen its brightness or hide behind a bashfulness she’d didn’t know she possessed until she was around him. She shook her head faintly. "Flirt." The word came playful and gentle, like it had the numerous times she had called him it before. But beneath her teasing there was a seriousness that laced her words, punctuated by the tender way her fingers curled just the tiniest bit tighter around his.

Colton felt the tiny shift of her fingers tightening around his and his smile softened immediately at the edges. The boat drifted lazily beneath the hanging flowers while creek water lapped gently against the old wood around them. He gave her hand a small squeeze in return, thumb brushing slow against her knuckles as he shook his head faintly.

"I ain't flirtin'," he murmured, though the grin tugging at his mouth made the words sound dangerously close to one. Warm evening light caught across his face while he looked at her like she was something precious he'd stumbled across by accident in the middle of the woods. "Just tellin' the truth."

Silence settled gently after that. Colton's gaze dropped toward the water beside the boat where the creek had deepened beneath the falls, clear enough that sunlight reached the colorful stones lining the bottom. Reds and blues and pale green river rocks glittered softly beneath the current while fish drifted through them in silver flashes. One circled slowly around a smooth pink stone before darting away toward the shadows beneath the lilies. Colton watched it go and something bright flickered suddenly across his face.

He turned back toward Blair, eyes carrying that spark now. "Do you wanna swim?" The words left him so suddenly that his own expression shifted a second later, surprise washing across his face. A sheepish grin followed immediately after and warmth climbed back into his cheeks while he rubbed his thumb against the side of her hand. "I mean—you don't have to," he amended quickly with a small laugh. "Just figured..." His eyes drifted toward the water around them where fish moved beneath floating lilies and cool mist rolled across the creek. "You said you've never swam anywhere like this before."

She couldn’t help but laugh at Colton’s new enthusiasm, finding his excitement at something so simple, surprisingly endearing, and cute. Blair’s attention drifted over toward the waterfall, then to the deeper clear water that rippled beneath the rowboat, before looking back over at him. There was something about his contagious excitement that made it hard to tell him no. She was also in no rush to return to camp, not wanting to face everyone’s whispers and glances. And selfishly, she didn’t want to leave or ruin whatever moment had blossomed between them without camp and demigods breathing down their necks.

"Ok," she replied quietly with a small shrug while her smile widened, curling into the persistent soft flush of her cheeks. Blair looked down at their entangled hands, realizing with almost a dramatic level of reluctance that it meant she’d have to pull away. She hesitated for a minute, studying the way his fingers engulfed her hand, strong but also gentle. Then slowly slipped her hand free, letting her skin glide across his work worn palms until the last connection was severed. She subconsciously rubbed her fingers together like the absence of his touch felt weird and foreign, and for a fleeting second she considered taking it back. But then she caught the light and excitement behind his eyes, and that was all the reason she needed.

Blair leaned forward, unzipping each of her mud caked, knee-high boots. She pulled them off one at a time, along with her socks, doing her best not to rock the boat too much. After stuffing her socks into her shoes and setting them aside, she reached up and gently pulled the flower from where it rested behind her ear. But she didn’t return it to the water, instead setting it safely on top of Colton’s sketchbook for her to find afterwards.

Then, without much thought, she crossed her arms along her abdomen and grabbed the hem of her shirt. She had lifted it halfway up, stopping just as she felt her knuckles brush the edge of her bra. Her expression shifted to something slightly guilty and bashful as her cheeks burned a little warmer. "I don’t want to send you into cardiac arrest or something," she mused as she tugged the bottom of her shirt back down. It wasn’t like she planned on skinny dipping or anything, nor was she that shy when it came to her body, but all of her lingerie was lacey and frilly and didn’t leave much to the imagination. And Colton, well, he was so unbelievably naive and inexperienced that it felt almost cruel thrusting that on him all at once. "We can work up to that," she added so quietly that her words were lost beneath the roar of the falls and the lapping of water against the side of the boat.

If he heard her or not, she didn’t know. But she didn’t wait around to clarify either. Blair stood up and her hands immediately grabbed onto his shoulders for stability as the little rowboat rocked and swayed beneath her movements. She lingered there until everything steadied beneath her feet, and before she could second guess all of her life choices, she gave Colton a quick, playful tap to the nose, then jumped over the side. The water was colder than she had prepared herself for and it nearly stole her breath, but thankfully jumping in forced her to acclimate quickly, whether she liked it or not. By the time she reached the surface, she was closer to the falls than the boat, feeling the rush of water gently beating against her back as she pushed her slick hair back out of her face. "You coming?" she called out to him with a smile so wide it was starting to ache.

His eyes followed the movement of her shirt before she tugged it back down again, and warmth rushed so fiercely into his face he was suddenly grateful and depressed that she hadn’t done it. Colton’s breath caught somewhere around the moment her hands found his shoulders. The little boat rocked beneath her weight and instinctively his hands lifted toward her waist to steady her, fingers hovering there without quite touching. Then she leaned forward and tapped his nose with that playful little grin of hers before diving over the side of the boat, and the startled laugh that escaped him rang bright across the water.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered beneath his breath, though the grin spreading across his face softened the words into something almost affectionate.

Water exploded upward around her in silver spray before settling into ripples beneath the waterfall mist. Colton watched her resurface with slick dark hair pushed back from her face and laughter shining from her eyes, and something in his chest pulled hard enough to make him smile helplessly back at her. She looked alive out there beneath the falling water and drifting flower petals, flushed from cold creek water and smiling wide enough it reached all the way into him. For a second he simply sat there looking at her while the boat drifted lazily beneath flowering branches overhead.

Then he hurried into motion. He bent to tug off his boots first, thick fingers fumbling slightly against damp laces in his haste. His pocketknife and the little leather tool pouch he carried everywhere landed carefully beside the sketchbook near the middle of the boat, followed by his belt. Colton glanced toward Blair once more before hooking his fingers beneath the collar of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. Late sunlight slid across warm skin and muscle built from years of farm work and hours at the forge, shoulders broad and dusted faintly with soot that the mist had begun to darken into streaks. He tossed the shirt carefully beside her boots with a crooked smile. "Figure you might want somethin' dry later."

Then he climbed onto the edge of the boat and dove cleanly into the water. The cold hit him all at once, sharp enough to steal the air from his lungs before turning instantly refreshing against skin overheated from the forge. Water rushed over his shoulders and through his hair while the current curled cool around his body beneath the falls. When Colton finally broke the surface again, he shoved wet hair back from his forehead and laughed breathlessly, bright and full beneath the roar of cascading water. The grin on his face looked almost boyish now, wide enough to crinkle at the corners of his eyes as droplets rolled down the strong line of his throat and shoulders. Evening light caught against the water streaming from his skin while flower petals drifted around them like scattered pieces of spring.

"Alright," he called toward her with a laugh still lingering in his voice, treading water easily near the boat. "I didn’t realize it would be this cold."

Blair slipped back beneath the waterfall, letting the cascade run through her hair and over her shoulders as she waited. She always thought it was a little ridiculous how people always did that the second they found a waterfall in movies, but now that she was before one in the flesh, she could see the appeal. Her hands ran down her face, wiping the water from her eyes. For a fleeting second, she made the mistake of peeking out from beneath damp lashes across the expanse of the widening creek toward the boat, just in time to catch a glimpse of Colton pulling his shirt over his head. She watched the soot stained cotton as it dragged across chiseled muscles and calloused hands that never once saw a day in the gym for vanity, but were honed through hard work and manual labor.

She tried to look away, but her gaze kept snagging the cut of the V that dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans, or the flex of his biceps whenever he moved. Her attention only shifted just enough to watch him very intentionally set his shirt down on the opposite side of the boat where she had been sitting. Her gaze lifted to find his and a scrunched, playfully reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Fuck, he’s perfect," she muttered under her breath as he dived into the water, words lost beneath the roar of the falls. And while Blair had said it countless times before, to his face even, the gravity of that revelation rooted itself deeper in her chest the more time she spent with him.

By the time Colton resurfaced, Blair had swam out just far enough from the falls that it no longer drowned out all other sound. She laughed softly at his astute observation as his voice traveled across the water toward her. For whatever reason, in that moment, she became more aware of the space between them than she had ever given much thought to. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up, and she was already closing some of the distance between them. She stopped close enough that they could talk without shouting, but not so close that they were bumping into each other while treading water. "If you’re cold," she started, her voice laced with gentle teasing. "Then you should—"

Then something clamped onto her toe with a gentle nibble.

Blair’s eyes widened and a sound somewhere between a gasp and a startled squeal echoed across the serene water. She all but launched herself out of the water, flailing her leg to shake free whatever had a hold of her. In her panic, the space between them narrowed until she collided right into him. A strained, embarrassed laugh slipped out as her head lulled forward just enough that the tip of her nose barely grazed his shoulder. "I saw the fish… but I uh, didn’t think about my toes looking like a snack," she mused, chuckling at her own stupidity, while looking up at him from the corner of eye.

Colton had already started smiling at whatever teasing remark she was about to make when the squeal tore out of her. The sound startled a laugh clean from his chest as she jolted through the water straight toward him, sending cold ripples splashing hard against his shoulders. A second later she collided into him and instinct took over before thought ever caught up. One arm slipped securely around her waist beneath the water while his other hand kept them afloat, broad palm cutting easily through the current as the creek swirled around them both. The grin spreading across his face looked reckless and bright beneath the waterfall mist drifting through his wet curls.

"They nibble every now and then," he admitted between breaths of laughter, cheeks flushed warm from more than the cold water. "Don't do any harm though. They're just nosy little things." His hand tightened instinctively at her waist when she shifted against him, fingers splayed carefully along the curve of her side beneath the surface. Water rolled in silver ribbons down her shoulders and gathered along her lashes while flower petals drifted lazily around them on the current. For a second Colton forgot entirely what he had been about to say before she crashed into him.

Her nose brushed his shoulder when she looked up at him and his thoughts slowed to a crawl after that.

The waterfall thundered softly behind them while evening light broke apart across the surface of the creek in scattered gold. Colton became painfully aware of the warmth of her body pressed against his despite the cold water surrounding them, aware of the way her fingers had gathered instinctively against him when she startled. His throat bobbed once before he finally found his footing somewhere beneath the haze settling through his head. "Can you open your eyes underwater?" he asked after a beat, voice quieter now. A spark flickered across his expression then, soft and boyish all at once. "Lemme show you somethin'."

His arm stayed around her waist while he glanced toward the deeper water near the moss-covered rocks beneath the falls. Fish flashed silver beneath the surface there, weaving through pale stones and drifting curtains of green river plants stirred by the current. Flower petals floated around them slowly enough that some caught briefly against his shoulder before spinning away downstream again. Colton looked back toward her with water dripping steadily from his lashes and a grin still tugging stubbornly at the corner of his mouth. "Promise there ain't nothin' down there that'll bite worse than those fish."

There was something to be said about the way Blair found her way to him whenever she was frightened, or more accurately, how he was always there to ease the transition whenever the world felt the need to remind her how sheltered and privileged she was. Whether or not Colton had meant to, his presence was quickly becoming an anchor that both buoyed and grounded her. It was startling how quickly she had started relying on him, but what caught her more off guard was that he not only didn’t seem to mind, but how he almost filled that role like it was made for him, like he wouldn’t trust anyone else to handle her with the proper amount of care. She felt like a burden and the complete and total opposite of him… and yet he was always smiling when their eyes met, arms poised to catch her without hesitation.

It made breathing around him frustratingly difficult as her mind kept bouncing between the warmth of his hand against her back, the gentle rumble of his chest as he laughed, or the way his gaze seemed to carry more than words ever could. And no matter how embarrassed or frightened she might have been, her smile returned, warm and impossibly bright, like maybe… the horse was worth it for that moment.

Blair laughed softly, trying her best not to focus on how his chest pressed against hers with every breath, or how his face lingered close enough that his words brushed warm and intimate along her jaw. She slowly looked back over her shoulder, following his line of sight down through the water, past the fish and sinking petals toward the rocks beneath the falls. "Ok," she whispered, nodding her head before slowly turning back to meet his gaze. Normally this was so far out of the realm of anything she’d agree to. She wouldn’t swim with fish, nor would she blindly dive into animal infested waters without asking a million questions, and even then she likely wouldn’t do it. But in that moment it became apparent with striking clarity… that she trusted Colton and that was the only answer she needed.

Colton smiled when she agreed. It was small at first, then brighter when he saw the trust sitting behind her answer. Water rolled gently around them while flower petals drifted between the lily pads, carried wherever the current pleased. His hand slid from her waist, though his fingers lingered briefly against her side before he let her go completely. Then he reached for her hand instead and threaded their fingers together once more. "C'mon," he said softly, eyes shining with quiet excitement. "Just stay close to me."

He guided her toward the waterfall slowly, keeping himself between her and the stronger current where the water churned white against the rocks. The roar grew louder with every stroke until conversation became impossible and the world narrowed to crashing water and silver mist. Colton stopped beneath the falls where the water hammered down around them in sheets of white. His grip tightened around her hand. He drew one deep breath, squeezed her fingers once, and then disappeared beneath the surface, pulling her gently after him.

Cold water swallowed the noise, though the swim lasted only seconds. Beneath the waterfall, a gap opened between the rocks where the current flowed through a submerged archway polished smooth by centuries of rushing water. Sunlight fractured overhead into ribbons of gold and blue while fish scattered from their path in flashes of silver. Then the darkness opened suddenly around them and Colton kicked upward. The surface broke above their heads with a rush of air and water streaming from their faces.

The cavern beyond looked stolen from a dream, crystal-clear water stretched beneath moss-covered stone walls that curved high overhead like the ribs of some ancient sleeping giant. Ferns spilled from cracks in the rock in lush green curtains while clusters of delicate blue flowers bloomed along narrow shelves just above the waterline. Toward the back of the cavern, a second waterfall cascaded from a fractured opening in the ceiling where part of the stone had collapsed long ago. Sunbeams poured through the gap in brilliant shafts of white and gold, striking the water below and turning it turquoise where the light touched. Moss glowed emerald beneath the illumination. Tiny droplets drifted through the air like floating diamonds, and flowering vines hung from the stone overhead in pale curtains that swayed gently in the breeze. Colton pushed wet hair from his eyes and looked toward Blair with a grin that stretched ear to ear, pride and excitement lighting up his face. "Do you like it?"

Blair’s gaze fell as his hand slipped from around her waist, and for the briefest moment the cold absence of his touch threatened to dampen her smile. But before the thought could take root, his hand found hers once again, callouses running along her soft skin as his fingers laced with hers. She followed his lead, drifting through the water not far behind him, while her free hand cut through the clear ripples helping guide them along. The falls roared loudly as they drifted closer, and when they slipped beneath the heavy cascade, cold water beared down on their heads, deafening and blinding them in a deluge of white. Blair couldn’t help but laugh, even though the sound was lost before it had left her lips. There was no way she would have known to move or hold her breath if it wasn’t for Colton’s gentle squeeze against her hand. It took a second to register, then she felt him tugging her down, and she just barely managed to draw in a deep breath before he pulled her under.

At first her eyes struggled to adjust, like trying to blink through an early morning haze after just waking up. Her fingers tightened around his hand, trusting Colton to guide her and by the time everything came into focus, fish darted past them as they dipped beneath a stone archway. Blair looked up toward the light that glistened and splintered along the water, and kicked off the rock helping propel them upwards. When they broke the surface, her chest heaved, drawing in air as she brushed back her slick raven black hair. She blinked past the water that dripped from her lashes into her eyes, looking around at the cavern that surrounded them in speechless awe.

Unable to fight the pull of her curiosity, Blair drifted toward the closest side of the cavern, Colton in tow behind her as their fingers remained intimately entangled. Her free hand slowly lifted from beneath the crystalline water, damp fingertips carefully dragging along the soft blue petals that blossomed from cracks in the stone. She followed along the edge, her touch bouncing from flower to dangling ferns then back again until she reached the smaller waterfall. Her hand dragged through the glass-like water, carving it in two only for the current to immediately fill the divide like she was never there. Her head tilted back, gaze drifting up the stone walls and along the cracks of light that poured through before finally settling on Colton in quiet astonishment. "I’ve never seen anything like it," she whispered, as if speaking too loud would somehow shatter the illusion revealing it all to be nothing but a trick of her own fear-addled mind.

Colton watched her drift through the cavern, fingers brushing over fern fronds and blue blossoms that spilled from the stone. Sunbeams poured through the fractured ceiling overhead, turning the water around her into shifting ribbons of turquoise and gold. Droplets clung to her lashes when she looked upward, following the path of the smaller waterfall as it spilled down moss-covered rock into the crystal pool below. The whole cavern seemed alive with quiet movement, yet his attention settled stubbornly on her.

A smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it. "Beautiful."

The word slipped free on a breath. His eyes remained on her a second longer before the realization caught up with him. Heat crept into his cheeks and he glanced toward the wall beside her, suddenly fascinated by a patch of emerald moss climbing between the rocks. The distraction lasted only a moment before his gaze found her again.

"I come here when camp gets too loud," he said softly. The water carried them in slow circles while their joined hands drifted beneath the surface between them. "Sometimes after the forge. Sometimes after a bad day. I'd just sit here for a while and listen to the water." His thumb brushed lightly against the back of her hand. "Feels different with somebody else here, but… I don’t think I would have brought anyone here but you."

The waterfall hummed through the cavern, steady and soothing, while flower petals floated across the pool and disappeared beneath the current. Colton drifted a little closer as the water carried him, shoulders glistening beneath shafts of warm light filtering through the broken stone overhead. His eyes moved between her and the cavern as though he couldn't quite decide which one deserved more of his attention, and judging by the way his smile kept returning, he wasn't having much luck with the decision.

The confession, their closeness, Colton’s hand laced so securely with hers… It all made Blair’s heart ache in a way that she couldn’t describe. He slowly drifted closer, carried by the current with no desire to stop it. Warmth enveloped and constricted within her chest… And then the panic set in. It was like a dam had broken in her mind and all the logic came rushing back in at once. As the space between them began shrinking, she started pulling away, blinking at every doubt that clawed to the forefront of her mind.

The current kept carrying her backwards until she bumped into the cavern wall with nowhere else to go. Her chest heaved from the erratic breaths she couldn’t control. Droplets fell from her hair and trickled down her face as she shook her head. "Colton..." she whispered, his name falling heavily from her lips almost like a plea, absent the weightless light that buoyed her a moment earlier. "You shouldn’t have wasted this on me." Blair couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes, her gaze fixed on the soft ripples of water between them. Her fingers went rigid before slowly loosening their grip on his. She didn’t pull away, but if he let go, her hand would slip free, taken by the current like the fish and the flowers and everything good that she ruined within the span of a few seconds.

"You know what I am… What I’ve done..." Blair’s words came out one after the other, frantic and rushed like she was trying to knock some sense into him before he did something he regretted. "You deserve someone sweet and kind… Like Daphne or Clover. The kind of girl that swims in creeks and rides horses." She closed her eyes tight, fighting the sting of tears that threatened to slip free. "Not some spoiled city girl who’s used up and damaged… You deserve better…" The final confession landed like the entire cavern had collapsed on top of her. It was a burden so heavy that she could barely breathe under the weight of it.

While she had been struggling to figure out who she was since setting foot into camp, Blair knew who Colton was from the first moment she met him. He was good, and honest, and so unbearably sweet… He deserved the world and she would only ruin him… like everything she touched.

Colton turned fully toward her when she said his name. The panic in her voice settled heavily in his chest, and he listened without interrupting while the current nudged them gently against the stone. Water trickled from the ends of her dark hair in steady droplets, tracking down the warm bronze of her skin before disappearing beneath the surface. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ripples between them, lashes dark and wet, shoulders drawn tight beneath the weight of words she had clearly been carrying for far too long. He held onto her hand the entire time, his thumb resting against her knuckles while she tried to convince him of something he already knew wasn't true.

The cavern filled with silence when she finished speaking. Water spilled from the smaller waterfall into the pool below in a steady hush, and somewhere beyond the broken ceiling a bird called from the trees overhead. Colton watched her against the stone wall, hair clinging to her neck and shoulders, brown eyes hidden beneath lowered lashes while tears threatened to gather there. The sight of her hurt was worse than he expected. She spoke about herself like she was something worn down and discarded, while all he could see was the girl who had laughed beneath the waterfall, who stared at flowers and hidden caverns with open wonder, who somehow still managed to smile at him after going through what could have been a near death experience.

Slowly, his fingers slipped from hers. The current immediately pressed against the space between their hands, carrying flower petals through the gap before his calloused fingertips found her chin instead. He tilted her face upward with patient care until her eyes met his, and the breath caught briefly in his throat at the sight of her. Water glistened across her cheeks and along the curve of her jaw. Her dark hair framed her face in damp waves, and her eyes looked impossibly large beneath the cavern light filtering through the broken ceiling overhead. "Blair," he said softly, his voice carrying the same care he might use handling something precious. "I don't look at Daphne. Or Clover. Or Jessica, or anyone else." His thumb brushed gently across her cheek. "I only look at you."

His hand remained against her face while sunlight shifted across the water around them, scattering gold and silver across the stone walls. "I care what you think," he continued quietly. "I care what you want. Not them, you." A small smile touched the corner of his mouth as his gaze moved between her eyes. "This isn't a waste to me. It never was." The words came easily because they were true. "It's only you, Blair."

He moved slowly after that. Every inch of the distance between them disappeared with deliberate patience, giving her all the time in the world to pull away if she wanted to. His hand remained against her cheek while his eyes searched hers one final time. Then he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her lips, warm and brief and sweet as creek water beneath summer sunlight. The kiss lasted only a few seconds before he drew back again, his forehead nearly brushing hers as the water drifted quietly around them. A faint flush colored the tops of his cheeks, and the smile he wore afterward reached all the way into his eyes while his thumb continued its slow path across her skin.

She wasn’t surprised when Colton released her hand, letting it drift away from him listlessly with the push of the current. But the same could not be said when he gently took hold of her chin. Blair swallowed and her lips parted, drawing in a shaky breath. She didn’t fight against him as he lifted her head, but her eyes remained shut until her need to know his expression outweighed the fear of what could be staring back at her. She blinked tentatively, dark lashes fluttering open as she finally looked up at him, forcing herself to hold his gaze no matter how much her shame made her want to pull away.

Blair clung to every word he spoke like it was oxygen. His confession slowly loosened something in her chest while simultaneously constricting tighter, making it difficult for her to breath or think. She had never felt like this about anyone before. Sex was a transaction or temporary release. There was never any emotions or feelings behind it, empty promises and kisses to get what she wanted, or what they wanted. No more. But everything about Colton’s entire presence in her life was different. He turned the world as she knew it onto its head, leaving her scrambling without a foothold to rely on. But even as she floundered, and struggled, and lost sight of who she was, somehow he was always there, offering his hand. He reminded her not of the person she thought she was, but the person he saw, a person she couldn’t wrap her mind around being part of her, but he refused to accept anything else.

She didn’t know who she was anymore, but somehow Colton knew… and for whatever reason, he liked her despite it.

A single tear slipped free, disappearing alongside a trickle of water that ran down her cheek and dripped off her chin. Blair didn’t move as he drew in closer, frozen somewhere between disbelief and startling anticipation. Her chest heaved, pulling in a deep breath just before her eyes closed and their lips met. Warmth unlike anything she had ever felt burned wild and reckless in her chest. In that small handful of seconds the entire cavern disappeared into a dizzying haze.

When Colton pulled away, it felt like it had been a fraction of a second, or perhaps an eternity... She couldn’t tell. Blair inhaled sharply, pressing one hand against the wall to keep herself steady while the world tilted around her. In that moment she finally understood what her old friends back in New York had been talking about, that weightless, intoxicating sensation that followed a first kiss. How it was deafening and exhilarating, and how everything she had experienced before then felt like a lie she was telling herself because it never felt as real or raw as that brief, tender kiss.

Time ticked by slowly before Blair was able to look back up at him, and as if she needed one last thing to override her self doubts and shame, he met her with his warm smile that curved bright and unbidden into his flushed cheeks. Something between a weak laugh and a sigh slipped free as she finally breathed, and a smile of her own began to grow.

Then her gaze fell to his lips and whatever sense or reason that had materialized in her mind, slipped away just as quickly. She pushed off the cavern wall and raised her hands to gently cup the sides of his neck. Her fingers ran along the edge of his jaw and beneath his ears, before entangling themselves in his wet locks. The space between them shrunk until her chest pressed against his and she guided his head back down to her. Their lips met a second time, no longer soft and tender, but passionate and deep. Heavy breaths bloomed where their noses pressed into each other’s cheeks and burst free in the small moments their lips parted before locking once again. Blair’s lungs burned, but she didn’t dare pull away, feeling for the first time in her life that this was exactly where she belonged.

Colton made a soft sound against her lips when she pulled him back to her, surprised for only a heartbeat before he melted into the kiss completely. One arm slid around her waist beneath the water while the other settled between her shoulder blades, holding her close as though she was something precious he had been entrusted with rather than something he possessed. Cool water drifted around them, carrying flower petals across the surface while sunlight spilled through the broken ceiling overhead in scattered bands of gold. Her fingers tangled through his wet hair and every time she drew closer, his heart seemed to forget its rhythm altogether.

The cavern faded into a blur of rushing water and moss-covered stone. Colton could feel the warmth of her pressed against him despite the chill of the pool, could feel the quick rise and fall of her breathing whenever their lips parted for the briefest moment before finding each other again. He kissed her back with all the tenderness he'd been carrying around since the day they met, all the quiet affection that had grown every time she smiled at him or reached for his hand. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should slow down, should make sure she knew she never had to rush toward anything with him, but right then he was simply happy to be standing there with her.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathing harder than before, Colton rested his forehead lightly against hers. Water dripped from the ends of his curls and rolled down the back of his neck while a grin spread helplessly across his face. The smile reached all the way into his eyes and stayed there, bright and warm and completely unguarded. His hand slipped upward from her waist and his thumb brushed gently along her cheek, catching a stray droplet that clung there.

"I wanted to do it properly," he admitted softly, a faint flush creeping back into his cheeks despite the cool water surrounding them. His gaze moved between her eyes as though he was still making sure she was real, still standing there with him beneath the hidden waterfall. "Will you date me, Blair?" The question came simple and earnest, carried on a hopeful smile while his fingers remained lightly against her face and the water rippled quietly around them.

Blair drew in a sharp breath when their lips finally separated. A part of her trailed after him for a fraction of a second like some unseen magnetism pulled her closer, but then the soft brush of Colton’s forehead against hers rooted her in place. Her hands slowly slipped from his hair, trailing over the curve of his shoulders before resting against his chest. She could feel the racing cadence of his heart beneath her palms while their breaths mixed in the small sliver of space between them. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, catching on the bright curve of his smile before lifting to meet his gaze.

When his gentle words pierced the heavy silence, Blair’s smile grew so wide that she was unable to hide or dampen it, no matter how much she tried. A flush slowly crept back across her cheeks in that surprising way that only Colton was able to pull from her. She blinked before her gaze fell to where her thumb lightly traced the edge of his collarbone. "I… Don’t think anyone has ever wanted me to be their girlfriend before," she confessed barely above a whisper. Because it wasn’t until he asked that the realization struck her that she had never been in a relationship before. Everyone she wasted her time with looked at labels like the plague… And then there was Colton. Her finger lightly tapped against his skin as she forced herself to look back up into his eyes. "I’m glad you’re the first."

Colton's smile softened the moment the words left her mouth. Water dripped steadily from his hair, tracing slow paths down the back of his neck while sunlight danced across the cavern pool around them. He looked down at her hand resting against his chest, at the thumb brushing lightly along his collarbone, and felt something warm settle deep inside him. The confession should have surprised him. Instead, it made his chest ache with a tenderness so fierce he barely knew what to do with it.

"Me too," he admitted quietly. The answer came with a sheepish smile and a faint flush that spread across his cheeks. Part of him wanted to tell her everything. Wanted to tell her that he'd been in trouble from the moment she marched into his life, sharp-tongued and beautiful and entirely unlike anyone he'd ever known. Wanted to tell her that every time he'd pictured the future lately, somehow she kept finding her way into it. The thoughts remained tucked safely behind his smile. They felt too large for this moment, too precious to rush.

His eyes wandered across her face instead. Water beaded along her lashes and caught in the dark strands of hair clinging to her cheeks. The cavern light turned her skin golden where it filtered through the broken ceiling overhead. Looking at her now, standing close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin, Colton found himself smiling all over again. So he did the only thing that felt right.

His thumb brushed across warm skin while he leaned forward, giving her every opportunity to pull away even though some stubborn part of him already knew she wouldn't. Then he kissed her again. Soft at first, lingering and unhurried, carrying all the affection he couldn't quite put into words. The cool water shifted around them while flower petals drifted lazily through shafts of sunlight, and Colton's hand remained cradling her face as he lost himself for a few quiet seconds in the simple fact that Blair was kissing him back.

What remained of the afternoon quickly slipped between their fingers as they got lost beneath stolen kisses while they remained hidden away from the rest of the world in that cavern. They might have stayed there for the rest of the night if it hadn’t been for one of them making a fleeting comment about dinner, forcing them to notice the way the amber light that poured through the cracking stone softened and shifted. With guilty laughs and interlaced fingers, they swam back out from beneath the waterfall, abandoning their small piece of heaven for the reality of camp, expectations, and people who would be wondering where they were if they didn’t turn back up soon.

Colton helped Blair back into the boat, lifting her easily rather than letting her struggle, before following her up and out of the creek. Rich flushes and persistent smiles never once faded as they stole quick glances at one another while he rowed them back down stream with more haste. The evening breeze cut sharply through the trees, chilling the water that clung to her skin and clothes. Eventually, after some stubborn goading, Blair conceded, agreeing to wear his shirt and get the faintest bit warmer. Colton, ever the gentleman, never once snuck a peek as she changed, although his face still managed to deepen to a darker shade of red.

They reached the dock in record time, pulling up beside it before Blair had a chance to settle into his soot stained shirt, her bare feet still resting against the old boards of the boat. Colton had shoved on his boots and climbed back onto the dock with the surprising ease of a man who had done this one hundred times over. He helped her out before she could argue or get a chance to put back on her own shoes, then insisted on giving her a piggyback ride back to camp rather than forcing her to pull on dry socks over soaked jeans and feet.

By the time they broke back through the treeline into the clearing at the center of the cabins, dinner wasn’t far off and demigods were already starting to make their way toward the pavilion. Some stopped in their tracks to turn and look at Colton and Blair as if they were caught in a compromising position… But they didn’t notice, or care. Colton was still shirtless, damp jeans clinging to his legs, while water dripped from his wet curls, down his neck, and along his bare chest. His calloused fingers curved beneath the bend in Blair’s knees with a touch that was tender yet firm enough that when he first lifted her it stole her breath. Her own soaked hair darkened the collar of his shirt that fit her more like a dress. Her arms were wrapped around him, one hand holding his sketchbook while the other fought to keep a firm grip on her boots and discarded shirt. Both of them were laughing and smiling as if Blair hadn’t nearly died in that very spot an hour earlier.

Colton carried her all the way over to the Athena cabin, gently setting her down on the small porch so that she never once set foot in the dirt. Blair was a foot or two taller than him as she stood at the edge of the wooden platform, holding out his sketchbook with that same smile that never faded and made the muscles in her cheeks ache. When he reached out to take it, she leaned down and stole one last kiss. Maybe it was because she could sense the lingering gazes of other demigods and wanted to claim him without ever having to say a word, or maybe she just found it exceedingly difficult not to kiss him simply because she could now… but either way she took the opportunity because she wanted to, and that was enough. The kiss was brief and fleeting, little more than a peck, but still made her heart race in disbelief… like at any moment she would wake up and this would all be some coma fever dream she had after being thrown from the horse.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... clover & daphne ............... collabs ....|.... @Sleepy Tani}

What Lies Below

^{#315b70 ....|..... outfit ............... #fcb9c1 ....|..... outfit ............... their homes > municipal building}

Sutton didn’t notice she had overslept until she rolled over in bed and the sunlight that poured between the blinds shined bright and golden into her eyes. She groaned and squinted, dragging her hand across her heavy eyelids to block out the light. For a second, she selfishly let herself think it was her day off, that she had stayed up too late or drifted off while watching a movie. But then the haze of reality crept in at the corners of her mind until she looked over at her nightstand where her phone illuminated showing her lock screen bursting with notifications. She gasped and sat bolt upright. Her hand shot out toward the small side table, knocking her phone, chapstick, and a handful of other things to the floor. She scrambled to the edge of her bed, leaning over the side of her mattress, half falling off, before scooping up her phone.

She didn’t bother moving, her lower half still on the bed while her left hand propped herself up. A knotted nest of blonde hair fell around her face, as she quickly unlocked her phone. Her thumb hastily navigated to her messages where several texts from Mayor Holt flooded her screen.

Mayor Holt . . .
.

Good morning. I would like a cappuccino today. 7:10 am

You did decent on the posters. You should also get yourself a coffee. 7:15 am

My vehicle needs an oil change. You need to take it to the garage before the festival. I don’t want anyone but Warren working on it. 7:25 am

Hello? 7:35 am

Hi. Hello. Will do. Be there ASAP. 8:07 am

...Sorry. 8:08 am

It wasn’t until she hit send on her response that she noticed her notifications were silenced, which explained… Well everything. "Damn it," Sutton cursed under her breath as she threw her comforter aside and jumped out of bed.

She moved through her apartment like a whirlwind, popping in and out of the shower in record time. Having no time to spare, she opted to leave her hair damp along her shoulders. Unfortunately that meant it’d be wild with frizz and curls by the time it dried, but it would have wasted an additional half an hour blowing it dry… and well, she didn’t want to see how angry the Mayor would be. Sutton scurried, hopped, and stumbled her way through gathering her things and getting dressed, stubbing her toes on more than one occasion. Surprisingly, she was gaining time, until she got to her damn tights. No amount of jumping or wiggling helped get them up any faster, and how she managed to accomplish it without getting a run, she’ll never know.

With her purse and satchel hanging off her left shoulder, and her heels dangling from her right hand, Sutton hurried out the door and down the stairs. She paused just long enough to slip on her shoes before bursting out the door along the side of Well’s Market. She couldn’t run in heels, or at least not well, which was probably for the best. Instead she charged down the sidewalk in a brisk walk, adjusting her bags every few steps, while constantly checking to make sure she had everything. There wasn’t really enough time to warrant slipping into the diner, but she needed coffee, and Mr. Perkins had come to expect it since it was a daily routine at this point.

The quiet bell dinged as the door swung open, followed by the sharp click of heels on old linoleum. Thankfully there was no line and Hazel had quickly learned to have her coffees hot and ready to go. Sutton shoved her phone into her purse, nearly missing the pocket twice, then scooped up the cardboard carrier in her right hand. "Morning, Hazel," she called to the girl with a warm smile. "Can you charge me double tomorrow? I overslept and Mayor Holt will kill me if I don’t get to his office like… Twenty minutes ago," she asked with an exhausted laugh and a desperate plea behind her eyes.

Hazel didn’t even hesitate. "Go," she said, waving her off before the other had finished the sentence. "We'll sort it tomorrow."

"Thank you! You’re an angel," Sutton called back to the waitress as she shuffled backwards, wiggling her shoulder to keep her bags from slipping down her arm. As she went to throw her hips back into the door, it swung open. The lack of resistance caught her off guard, but before she could tip over from her frantic hurry, Harlan Boone’s arm stretched out, hand splayed against the plane of her back to steady her.

"Easy there," he offered her patiently while hooking his foot around the door to keep it open. His hand remained firm against her back until she found her footing and took a second to catch her breath, nodding her head and blinking slowly. "If you’re already late, no point in hurting yourself to get there a little faster," he offered with a gentle pat to the shoulder.

She nodded her head slowly, finding reluctant wisdom in his words. But Harlan also didn’t know the Mayor, not like she did, and two minutes made a difference… to him anyway. The man took it upon himself to lift the straps of her bags up and over her head so they stopped threatening to slip off. She sighed at the small gesture of kindness, sparing a glance up toward him, guilt and exhaustion already tugging at her features when the day had hardly begun. "Thanks," she whispered, flashing him a tired, lopsided smile before she started back down the street.

It had only taken her a couple more minutes to reach the Municipal Building, but by the time she pushed through the entrance she was already over an hour late. Sutton stopped just past the threshold to catch her breath, blisters already forming along her feet where her heels rubbed, and wild blonde curls framing her face, frizzy and still half damp. From behind the Town Clerk’s desk, Jerry Perkins leaned forward, bald spot haloed by wiry white hair caught in the fluorescents. His smile came easily and warm, wrinkled and creased from decades of a life lived. He could have retired years ago, but he enjoyed his job far too much to stop now. His kindness was one of the few things that made coming to work every day worth it.

"Mornin’, Ms. Lockwood," he beamed brightly, waving an arthritic hand toward her in greeting. "You gave the Mayor and I a bit of a fright this morning."

Sutton’s head lulled to the side as she gave the older man a warm and apologetic smile. "I overslept," she explained as she crossed the quiet lobby, shoes thudding softly against the worn high traffic carpet. The building was old, one of the few structures that wasn’t swallowed by the mountain back in the eighties. It was freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer, relying on fans and old radiators to help circulate air. The smell of mothballs, fresh xeroxed papers, and old books hung in the air, masked by the various autumn scented candles Mr. Perkins burned. That day seemed to be an apple pie kind of day.

Warped floorboards beneath the carpet creaked and moaned beneath every step as Sutton approached his desk. She set the drink carrier against the raised edge surrounding Mr. Perkin’s work area and started wiggling loose one of the coffees. "But don’t worry, I still have your coffee, just the way you like it." She smiled, holding out the cardboard cup toward him. Black, two sugars, and a splash of caramel.

The older man took the cup in both hands with a wide smile. "Sweet girl, you didn’t have to—" he tried to argue like he did every morning for nearly four years.

"Nonsense." She waved him off like she always did, smiling bright and unguarded as she took the carrier, and two remaining drinks, and headed toward the double doors opposite the entrance. "I always look after my work bestie, you know that," Sutton mused with a palpable effervescence.

She pushed open the large oak door with a smile, but the moment it latched shut behind her the corners of her mouth fell and whatever light that had lived behind her eyes vanished. The room was fairly gloomy with only two windows framed in sheer curtains that never saw proper sunlight. The walls were lined with tall wooden bookshelves and filing cabinets that shifted and creaked whenever she crossed the room. Then off to the side was a single desk that stood out like a sore thumb in the bleak dreariness of the Municipal Building. Everything on top of it was organized just the way she liked it. Her desktop calendar was covered in curly, practiced scribblings in various colorful inks denoting every meeting, engagement, and deadline. There were three pen cups holding an assortment of writing implements, a stack of pastel post-it notes, a crocheted daisy coaster, a water cooler in the corner decorated with garland like vines, a worn cardigan draped over the back of her chair, and a small space heater tucked beneath her desk. And everything, down to the empty clipboard that awaited the print out of her daily schedule, had pink on it… somewhere.

Sutton took a quick sip of her coffee before setting it down on the flower coaster. She pulled her bags from over her head and hung them from the dedicated hook on the wall behind her. She retrieved her phone and crossed the room to the water cooler. One hand began filling the cup while the other swiped furiously along the touch screen. Before the water had stopped flowing, the small printer beside her desk was already stirring to life, printing the day’s schedule which was over three pages long. She took the warm, freshly printed pages and pinned them to her clipboard, along with slipping a pen in the small space beneath the metal clip. Then her fingers curled beneath the handle to the top drawer of her desk. She pulled it open revealing a collection of personal items: a picture of her family hiking in the Black Hills when she was in grade school, a pink beanie baby Mr. Perkins gave her on her first day, lotion, chapstick… and an orange prescription bottle.

She exhaled deeply before picking up the bottle and popping the cap. The last two capsules of the iron supplement tumbled into her hand. Sutton looked down at them, rolling them around in her palm for a second, then tossed the empty orange container into the trash. Thoughts threatened to creep out from the recesses of her mind, dark and unwanted, but before they could take hold, she quickly tossed the pills into her mouth and swallowed them back with the water. The thoughts and pills vanished somewhere deep inside her, out of sight, out of mind. A problem for a different day… or lifetime.

Then, with no more time to waste, Sutton scooped up her phone and clipboard. She held them close to her chest with her left arm, while her right hand pickd up the Mayor’s steaming cappuccino—which she never really understood why he wanted it, but it was better to concede to his request rather than ask questions. She crossed the room toward a second, more ornate set of double doors, then paused. She drew in one last deep breath, before raising her hand that held the cup and rapped her knuckles against the wood.

Samuel Holt left his house every morning at precisely six o’clock. Not six-oh-one, not five-fifty-eight. Six. Routine had a rhythm to it, and he had spent more than two centuries learning that the world behaved better when people and places were pushed carefully into predictable patterns. The town still slept beneath a pale wash of morning blue as he drove through Pine Ridge, headlights sliding across old storefronts and dark windows while fog sat low between the trees at the edges of town. Porch lights glowed warmly against weathered houses, and in the distance he could already see old Mrs. Weller beginning her daily ritual of watering flowers she somehow kept alive even with the mountains steadily stealing sunlight from half her yard.

The recreation center sat quietly near the edge of town, looking more like an afterthought than an actual public building. The brick exterior had faded unevenly over the years while old white paint peeled around the window frames, and the sign out front still carried a hairline crack through the word Community from a baseball incident nearly eight years ago. Inside, the place was small enough that Samuel could take in the entire gym at a glance every morning. Two treadmills sat beside one another beneath mounted televisions perpetually tuned to local news channels nobody watched. A modest rack of weights lined one wall beside an aging bench press, while the stair climber in the corner remained little more than decorative furniture eleven months out of the year.

Beyond the back windows and glass doors sat the pool Samuel had paid for himself years ago, enclosed by chain-link fencing and newly poured concrete. It was little more than a large backyard pool by city standards, rectangular and simple with classic blue paint beneath the waterline, but for Pine Ridge it had become something treasured. During summer weekends children and teenagers packed the place until sunset while exhausted parents sat in plastic chairs beneath umbrellas and thanked Samuel for his generosity as if he’d personally parted the sea.

Howard sat behind the front desk exactly where he always sat, newspaper spread open before him with thick reading glasses balanced low on his nose. The old man looked up over the paper as Samuel stepped through the doors and immediately smiled. Deep lines folded around his eyes, warm and familiar with years of repetition. "Morning, Howard," Samuel greeted smoothly, already reaching into the inside pocket of his coat before the other man could speak. The folded fifty-dollar bill landed quietly inside the donation jar sitting beside the register with the same effortless motion Samuel had repeated every morning for years. Howard gave the same response he always did too, grumbling under his breath that Samuel would put him out of work, spoiling the place so much. Samuel smiled politely at the joke, because Howard liked it when he did.

Thirty-five minutes in the pool. Exactly thirty-five. Morning fog still curled lazily over the water when Samuel stepped through the glass doors leading outside, carrying the same quiet rhythm he carried through every part of his life. The concrete around the pool still held the chill of the night, dampness gathering in darker patches where dew had settled beneath wrought iron chairs and faded umbrellas. Pine trees stretched beyond the chain-link fence, their tops disappearing into drifting ribbons of mountain fog while the first hints of sunlight filtered weakly through the clouds overhead. The entire place sat suspended in that strange stillness before a town fully woke, caught somewhere between sleep and routine.

Samuel crossed toward one of the chairs nearest the pool and set to stripping for his swim. Movements smooth enough to seem absent-minded, though there was intention buried beneath every action. First came the charcoal gray sweatpants, folded neatly along the seams and laid carefully across the chair. Then his black t-shirt followed, sleeves tucked inward, smoothed once flat beneath his hand before being placed atop the others. Last came the lightweight windbreaker, dark navy with the Pine Ridge logo embroidered over the chest. He folded it twice and rested it on top of the pile, straightening one sleeve that had shifted slightly out of place. Even here, with nobody watching, order found its way into his hands.

Only once everything sat exactly where he wanted it did Samuel step toward the edge of the water. Cool air brushed against his skin while the surface of the pool reflected pale morning light in fractured ribbons beneath drifting fog. He rolled his shoulders once and stretched his neck slowly before leaning forward. Then he dove. The movement cut through the silence cleanly, smooth as a blade slipping beneath fabric. Water folded around him without resistance, cool pressure rolling across his skin while the world above vanished into muted sounds and shifting blue light.

Water rolled softly against the pool walls with every lap while birds slowly began filling the quiet with songs from the trees overhead. Samuel’s thoughts moved elsewhere while he swam; town budgets, council meetings, road repairs, names that needed remembering, faces that needed convincing. Afterward came the shower and then Sutton. Same time every morning. Same message structure. The same small exchange threaded quietly into the routine like clockwork beneath skin. Predictability had comfort buried deep inside it if one looked hard enough. Samuel would never admit that aloud.

By the time he stepped back outside, Pine Ridge had begun stretching itself awake around him. Main Street carried the slow movement of morning life now; Harv Sterling stood outside the diner, unlocking the doors while two teenagers laughed beside bicycles in the parking lot. Lucy Hale waved as she walked to the small book store to open up for the day, her son trailing behind her like a baby duckling, and somewhere down the street a little girl nearly tripped over her own feet trying to chase after a dog dressed in a ridiculous pumpkin costume. Samuel smiled and lifted his hand toward each greeting as he passed, every expression measured carefully enough to feel effortless. People smiled back warmly. Some called him the town's champion. Others swore Pine Ridge had never been better than it was beneath Samuel Holt. Morons, every last one of them. Still, they looked happy, and he supposed there were worse things people could be.

After returning home, Samuel moved through the rest of his morning with the same quiet precision that shaped every hour of his day. The shower ran hot enough to fill the bathroom with steam that curled against dark marble and mirrors. By the time he stepped back into his bedroom, he was already mentally sorting through the day ahead. Council reports. Budget approvals. Festival preparations. Missing persons concerns that had begun surfacing more frequently than he cared for. He dressed without hesitation, movements smooth and practiced after decades of repetition. Charcoal trousers, black button-down, tailored jacket. Sharp lines, clean fabric, polished shoes. The sort of outfit that suggested authority without ever appearing like it had tried too hard to achieve it.

He made a brief stop in town before heading toward the Municipal Building, stepping out a few minutes later with a basket of fresh muffins balanced easily beneath one arm. Pumpkin spice, cinnamon apple, blueberry, and chocolate chip. Margaret’s bakery was a small hole in the wall, but the woman insisted that holidays called for "Good moods and sugar!" and Samuel had long since learned it was easier to smile and indulge her than argue. Besides, people liked small gestures. People remembered them. His black Mercedes-Benz rolled quietly down Main Street afterward while Pine Ridge moved steadily into the morning around him, storefronts opening beneath hanging autumn decorations and paper ghosts swaying softly from lamp posts.

The Municipal Building sat near the center of town overlooking the square, old brick giving it more grandeur than Pine Ridge realistically needed. Samuel stepped through the front doors and exchanged greetings with Jerry Perkins as he passed.

His office sat at the far end of the upper floor, dark wood doors opening into a room that looked more suited for old money than local government. Rich mahogany paneling climbed the walls from floor to ceiling, broken only by built-in bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes and carefully chosen pieces gathered over a lifetime most people would never comprehend. A chandelier hung overhead, scattering warm amber light across patterned rugs and black leather chairs positioned near a low table by the fireplace. Behind his desk, tall arched windows framed the distant mountains and forest while dark curtains pooled heavily at either side like shadows gathering along the walls. The entire room carried the smell of old books, cedar, and faint traces of expensive bourbon soaked into polished wood over time.

Samuel set the basket of muffins along one corner of the desk and lowered himself into the chair behind it with a quiet exhale. Papers disappeared beneath his hands as the morning settled into work, signatures sliding neatly along documents while his laptop cast a soft glow across dark wood. Time moved easily there. Predictably. He had almost finished reading through a report concerning the mine and new required permits when a timid knock tapped softly against the door. Samuel glanced briefly toward the clock sitting near the corner of his desk and found himself unsurprised. Sutton had overslept. He considered the fact for exactly two seconds before deciding to let it go. It was a holiday.

"Come in."

Sutton struggled to juggle everything she held, just for a second as she turned the handle. She regained her practiced hold of coffee in her right hand, clipboard and phone in her left as she stepped into the Mayor’s office and slowly closed the door behind her with a gentle bump of her hip. "I’m so sorry for my tardiness, sir," she apologized like she always did whenever she messed up, which was far more often than she’d like. She never met his gaze, keeping her eyes fixed somewhere always just below his line of sight. The quiet office was filled with the soft thud of her steps as she crossed the room toward his desk and set the cappuccino down on the same coaster he always had her place his drinks, drinking spout turned toward him just so.

Once it was settled, she took three steps back and brought her clipboard out before her, giving her something to focus on that wasn’t his harsh, scrutinizing gaze. "I slept through my alarms. I got here as fast as I could. It won’t happen again." As she spoke, Sutton’s hands curled tighter around the light pink clipboard until her knuckles went white, like she was bracing for reprimand, shouting, or whatever sort of punishment awaited her.

Samuel said nothing immediately. He simply reached for the coffee sitting neatly atop its coaster, fingers curling around the warm paper cup while his eyes remained on the paperwork spread before him. Steam rose in delicate ribbons between them, carrying cinnamon and espresso through the office as he lifted it closer and breathed in slowly. His shoulders eased by the smallest fraction, and a quiet sigh escaped him, soft enough it nearly disappeared beneath the distant hum of the building outside. He set the cup back down carefully without taking a drink, adjusting it half an inch until it sat precisely where he wanted it.

"That's fine," he said at last, voice smooth and brisk as his eyes lifted toward her. They lingered there for a moment, drifting over her posture and the clipboard clutched tightly against her chest before catching on the turtleneck wrapped around her throat. His mouth shifted faintly at one corner, barely enough movement to qualify as a frown before it vanished again. Good that the weather had finally begun turning colder. Summer had always complicated things more than he liked. People dressed differently when temperatures climbed, and inconvenience had a habit of becoming suspicion if one allowed it enough room to breathe.

Samuel leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand lifting in a dismissive motion through the space between them as if brushing the matter aside entirely. Work settled easier into his hands than sentiment ever had. People were simple when given roles, schedules, expectations. "Let's go over the agenda for the day." He folded his hands neatly together atop the desk and glanced toward her clipboard, expression settling back into its usual composed shape. Whatever thoughts had briefly crossed his mind disappeared beneath routine, filed away behind order and structure where they belonged.

Sutton nodded her head, and lifted the hand that still clutched her phone to sweep blonde waves back behind her ears that had started to coil a bit wild and untamed after air drying. She wet her lips and proceeded to list off his schedule like she did every morning. "Your next appointment is at…"

..................................... 9:45 am – 10:45 am .	. Safety walkthrough of the haunted house, mine tours, and ghost town tours
11:00 am – 12:00 pm	Check in with festival vendors and confirm booth locations
12:15 pm – 1:15 pm	Halloween lunch at the middle school
1:45 pm – 2:00 pm .	Phone-in radio interview with PINE Radio, reminding residents about the Main Street closures and parking restrictions
2:30 pm – 3:00 pm	Annual spooky story reading at the elementary school
3:15 pm – 4:00 pm	Confirm contest categories and prizes
4:00 pm – 6:30 pm	Two and a half hour buffer for any last minute hiccups
6:30 pm	Meet at the Municipal Building and prepare for your entrance
6:55 pm	Procession into the festival
7:00 pm	Speech and ribbon cutting
8:50 pm	Announce children's costume contest winner
9:00 pm	End of family friendly portion of the festival
11:50 pm	Announce pumpkin pie and adult costume contest winners
12:00 am	End of the night firework show

"... After the fireworks the festival will conclude, and clean up will begin tomorrow morning." She flipped the last page clipped to her pink board to make sure she didn’t miss anything before clutching it against her chest. "As for your car," Sutton continued, trying to wiggle in the one last complication he dropped on her like he did most mornings. "I can drop you off at the mines for the safety walkthrough and it will hopefully be finished in time to get it back to you before your lunch at the middle school, or you can borrow my car—" The idea of Mayor Holt driving around in a pink Fiat was a funny image that she had to do her best not to think about too long before she accidentally laughed and made things far worse. "—You have the keys and it’s parked out back."

Sutton chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment as she tried to think of any other options that were less humiliating or didn’t hinge on her nagging Warren Boone to rush an oil change on a very expensive car. "The weather is supposed to be fairly nice today, so you could also walk, or I can call around and find someone able to escort you around town." She lightly tapped her fingers against the side of the clipboard. "Mr. Perkins might also have a car you can borrow," she added, motioning back over her shoulder with a small jab of her thumb.

Samuel listened in silence while Sutton moved through the remainder of the schedule, fingers steepled neatly beneath his chin as the reality of the day settled heavier and heavier across his patience. Fireworks. Public appearances. Safety walkthroughs. A lunch at the middle school that would inevitably involve sticky fingers and children asking deeply unfortunate questions with complete sincerity. Next year he would simply cancel classes altogether and call it community morale. The schools could survive one free day in October, and more importantly, so could he. His mouth tightened faintly at the thought of another hour spent reading The Legend of Sleepy Hollow aloud to an audience of aggressively energetic four-year-olds.

Then Sutton offered him the Fiat.

Samuel’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly before smoothing itself back into place, though the response came perhaps a touch too quickly to qualify as casual. "Oh," he said briskly, already dismissing the possibility from his mind with the urgency of a man narrowly avoiding social execution. Clint would smell blood in the water instantly if he ever caught sight of Samuel climbing out of a pink Fiat in broad daylight. The humiliation would outlive civilizations. "That won’t be necessary. I can call a cab or—yes, Mr. Perkins." His agreement came unusually easy now, smooth enough that even Sutton might notice the suspicious enthusiasm behind it if she looked closely enough. Samuel leaned back slightly in his chair and lifted one hand in a vague gesture toward her clipboard, quickly trying to change the topic. "Make a note. Next year I'd like to give the schools a free day. Less..." He paused, visibly displeased by the concept alone. "Reading."

The word sat in the air with quiet disdain while Samuel pushed himself smoothly to his feet. His jacket shifted neatly into place as he rounded the desk, movements measured and controlled with the same effortless authority that made people instinctively straighten when he entered a room. Then his attention settled fully onto Sutton again. Not the clipboard this time. Not the schedule. Her. His eyes lingered along the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the tension she carried in her posture, the way her fingers still curled too tightly around the clipboard despite the conversation softening. Samuel tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable beneath the weight of his attention.

"Have you been sleeping enough?" he asked finally. The question came quieter than most things he said, though somehow that only made it more intense. "Taking your vitamins? A well balanced diet?" There was concern there, buried beneath the sharpness, though it surfaced in the same way everything did with Samuel; controlled too tightly, wrapped beneath scrutiny until kindness became something almost intimidating to receive.

Sutton nodded her head, blonde curls grazing her cheek as she pulled the pen from where it was clipped to the board and made a note the moment he mentioned it. Without looking up while her pen made an extra curl around the lowercase ‘g’, her head tilted slightly to the side. "Should I cancel the Christmas Eve ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’ reading—" She paused when she heard the familiar creak of his leather office chair shifting to adjust to the absence of his weight. It was a sound that made her spine go rigid while the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. It was an omen that rarely meant anything good, often followed by the lowering of her collar and the familiar pierce of fangs into her flesh. But she didn’t move, didn’t back down, holding her ground through the subtle tremors and the blanching of her knuckles.

His question pulled the air from her lungs in a startled gasp, and for the first time in days, if not weeks, her light brown eyes lifted to meet his gaze. "I—I…" Sutton stammered, not knowing what to make of his concern, even if it was delivered in what felt like more of an accusation rather than concern. She didn’t know how to answer because, truthfully, she hadn’t slept well since the first time he fed from her. Sleep eluded her and if it came, it was usually plagued with nightmares. Rather than answering, she skipped to his next question as seamlessly as she could manage. "I missed breakfast today, but I try to have three square meals, and I took my last iron supplements when I arrived this morning. I need to visit Dr. Hyde for a refill."

Samuel's frown deepened as she spoke. Not dramatically, just enough to pull faint lines into his brow while he watched her carefully over the edge of the clipboard. Missing breakfast was exactly the sort of answer he expected from her, which irritated him more than it should have. The startled look in her eyes lingered unpleasantly in the back of his mind as well. Sutton always looked like she was waiting for something bad to happen whenever he stepped too close. The realization settled heavily somewhere beneath his ribs, unwelcome and familiar all at once.

Without a word, he reached forward and tapped the edge of her clipboard with one finger. The motion was firm enough to redirect her attention without being aggressive, though there was still something undeniably commanding about it. "Stop and get something to eat when you take my car for the oil change," he instructed. "Something substantial. Not a granola bar. Not coffee." His gaze narrowed slightly as though daring her to argue the point. "You can eat while they're working on it."

Samuel let his hand fall away and straightened, attention drifting briefly toward the windows overlooking town before returning to her again. "I already have an appointment scheduled for you with Dr. Hyde, it was about time for you to run out, you should schedule appointments in advance in the future." The words came matter-of-factly, delivered with the quiet certainty of someone who had never considered asking permission first. He had simply handled it. That was easier. More efficient. People often complicated their own lives by insisting on choice.

Then his eyes slipped downward, catching on the high collar of the turtleneck wrapped around her throat. Something unpleasant twisted low in his stomach. Guilt was not an emotion Samuel entertained often, but every now and then it surfaced in small sharp fragments that refused to stay buried. He looked away first. A harsh breath left him through his nose before he turned and began making his way back toward the desk, jacket shifting softly with the movement. "Until then..." He paused briefly, jaw tightening. "I'll abstain." The words landed tersely, almost irritated with themselves. By the time he sat back down behind the desk, his attention had already returned to paperwork waiting in neat stacks before him, though the tension lingering around his shoulders suggested the conversation had settled somewhere deeper than either of them would likely acknowledge.

Sutton’s gaze fell automatically to her clipboard, and more specifically the Mayor’s finger as it tapped against the edge of the pink plastic in that silent and disarmingly soft way he demanded her attention. It was almost like gentle parenting, but there was no need to reinforce his words because she knew what he was capable of. She never attempted to defy him because her fear kept her obedient and complacent. Her blonde waves bounced softly as she nodded her head. "Yes sir, of course. That’s smart," she agreed, resorting to compliments whenever she was corrected or felt like she had misstepped because it was safe, because flattery was the only shield she had. "I might not have another chance to eat before the festival, and that’s unwise given my… condition." Pale, rose tinted lips pulled faintly at the corners in the closest thing that could be considered a smile in the oppressive presence of the Mayor.

There was a beat of silence, then her eyes widened, shocked that he had thought to make her an appointment or that he even bothered to be aware of her prescription schedule. For a fleeting moment, Sutton might have almost mistaken it for compassion or concern, but then the startling truth came crashing back down on her. She was more than his assistant… She was his only source of sustenance, as far as she was aware. It wasn’t about her well-being, but his. "Right, of course. Thank you, sir. I’ll schedule my next appointment when I’m in her office to avoid this in the future." She nodded her head again, blinking rapidly as she made a mental note.

Warm brown eyes tracked him as he circled back around his desk. His words landed heavy like a stone thrown in a still pond. She inhaled a soft, startled breath, watching him with evident disbelief furrowing her brows. "I—uh… Sir, are you sure?" The prospect of not feeling the sharp prick of his fangs in her neck or having to hide behind bandaids, turtlenecks, and scarves was a godsend, but Sutton also feared what hunger would do to him, or more importantly, his temper.

Samuel dismissed the concern with a small wave of his hand, as though the entire subject had already been decided and no longer required discussion. The gesture was casual. Final. His eyes drifted briefly toward the windows overlooking the town, sunlight filtering through old glass and spilling across the polished wood of his desk in pale rectangles. Hunger had never been particularly difficult to manage. Two centuries taught a man patience whether he wanted to learn it or not. "I'll be fine."

The words settled between them simply enough, though something heavier lingered beneath them. More often than not, Samuel regretted turning Sutton into his thrall. At the time it had been logical. Necessary. The sort of decision that fit neatly into columns of risk and reward. Yet the time afterward had complicated the mathematics. She remained stubbornly good despite everything, kind in ways that felt increasingly foreign to him, and every small act of thoughtfulness landed like an accusation he never asked for. He knew the arrangement was unfair. He knew she deserved better. Yet firing her felt impossible, and letting her go felt worse. So they remained trapped together inside a pattern neither seemed capable of breaking.

The guilt stirred briefly in the pit of his stomach before he shoved it aside with practiced efficiency. Samuel shifted back in his chair, posture straightening automatically as work reclaimed its place at the forefront of his thoughts. Order was easier than reflection. Paperwork was easier than conscience.

"I think you can be dismissed for now," he said, reaching for one of the waiting folders. "Handle whatever work needs doing, then take my car and get something to eat. Proper food, Sutton." His gaze lifted toward her pointedly over the edge of the file. "I'll see you later this afternoon."

He opened the folder and immediately frowned. A missing persons report stared back at him from the first page. Clare Ann. Twenty years old. The photograph clipped neatly inside showed a bright smile frozen permanently in time, the sort of picture families always chose because it felt hopeful. Samuel's eyes lingered there for a moment before shifting across the details beneath it. The muscles in his jaw tightened faintly. This wasn’t someone he’d orchestrated having gone missing like so many others. Then, almost as an afterthought, he glanced back up at Sutton. For a brief second his expression softened, something quieter passing behind his eyes before the familiar mask settled back into place.

Sutton blinked once and nodded her head. "Yes, sir. Of course." While holding her clipboard tight to her chest, she drifted across his office toward the far wall where he usually hung his coat. Her right hand dipped into the front pocket, retrieving his car keys like she had done countless times before. Muffled thuds followed her as she crossed the room toward the door. Her hand curled around the handle, turning it until she heard the latch click, then she paused. Her head lifted slowly, looking back over her shoulder toward him one last time. "Don’t forget a costume for the festival," she added quietly before exiting his office, vanishing out of sight, followed by the soft click of the door closing behind her.

^{interactions ....|.... hazel & harlan ............... mentions ....|.... clint ............... collabs ....|.... @Sleepy Tani}

Reign of the Usurper

^{#455955 ....|..... outfit ............... #2d5a32 ....|..... outfit ............... ballroom}

Maeve had tracked Lord Rhaevyn as he rounded the table, eyes following his every move although she remained poised and facing forward. A lady should never openly gawk, but she could not hide her intrigue either. He was handsome and charming, and took initiative before any other man was given the chance. Those were qualities that stuck with her and she found herself pleased with where his name landed on her list, uncontested at the top. When he lowered himself into the seat opposite her, a single brow rose but a fraction while a curious glint sparked behind her eyes. It seemed she shared her mother’s keen eye.

No words were shared, not yet. It was only proper to wait until more Lords filled the seats around them, which they seemed to be taking their sweet time in doing so, which was inconvenient at best. Maeve had hardly eaten all day due to her nerves and obsessive over preparation. And now that the sun had set, time and the heat had made her stomach ache with absence. Thankfully, the ballroom was far too loud from the boisterous conversations and the steady hum of music, that no one would be able to hear the furious grumbles that roared from her belly.

As she waited for the servants to make their way to everyone before her—it was as if they forgot who she was, honestly,—Maeve let her gaze flit about the room, studying the various Lords and Ladies as they wandered their way toward the feast as if the food was not already growing cold at their leisure. Internally she scoffed and rolled her eyes, but on the outside she remained pristine and patient, occupying her time with silent judgements. Her attention snagged on Valerius Kenra, recalling his brazen comment and before she could stop herself, her gaze fell, dragging along the Lord’s form as her mind temporarily wandered how different their introduction would have gone if he had, in fact, chosen to arrive absent attire as a whole.

Before she could get lost in baser thoughts, they quickly faded away as something new attracted her scrutiny, the same poorly dressed Lord sparking a conversation with Seraphina Velmorra of all people. It was almost ironically poetic, a Lord who arrived at what could very well be the most important six months of his life, dressed in tattered riding clothes, speaking with a Lady who was notorious for being unladylike. While Maeve harbored disdain for any man whose attention was not fixed on her, it was almost a match made by the Gods. If Valerius hadn’t already lowered himself in her standing, she might have considered dropping his name father down her list for simply choosing Seraphina as the first woman he conversed with openly. There was no accounting for taste.

No longer amused, her attention drifted again until it settled on Elrik Járnbjørn. Another man handsome by his own right with a silent stoicism, which she could admire because, unlike his brother, it seemed he understood when best to be silent and when to speak, a quality often lost on men. He carried himself like a warrior, not far removed from the way Rhaevyn demanded respect by presence alone. While Ironcrag sounded like the worst possible place to live, along with the Sunderlands, Lord Elrik seemed to possess many of the qualities—

Her thoughts snagged like a carriage wheel on a rock, abrupt and jarring, jostling all other thoughts from her head in one swift motion. Her brows visibly creased and eyes narrowed as she watched the Lord pick up a wine decanter before one of the servants could. Odd. She watched him shamelessly, her gaze following his every move as he glided across the room, stopping beside Rhea without ever missing a beat. In that small window of time, everything else in the ballroom melted away as Maeve’s gaze locked violently onto her sister’s. It hadn’t been a single day and one of the Lords—one of the most advantageous Lords in the realm—was talking to her sister over her… Pouring her damn wine like a servant in front of everyone. She watched Rhea’s poise and charm falter beneath her piercing glare, nearly laughing at her lack of propriety before the Lord’s body shifted, stepping between them like an unwitting barricade.

Lord Rhaevyn, however, had remained silent and observant, his gaze pointedly following the Princess’s attention around the ballroom. He watched the microchanges in her expression as she judged and scrutinized in her mind and he couldn’t help himself from wondering what truths lived behind those piercing eyes. He imagined the disgust that twisted in her stomach at the sight of Lord Valerius’s inability to replace his attire in time for the feast or the superiority that bloomed through her chest while looking at a Lady like Seraphina who rejected what it meant to be a lady. But it wasn’t until Lord Elrik ignored her entirely, focusing his attention solely on the younger Princess, that Maeve’s true fire burned bright when she thought no one was looking. If he wasn’t sworn to Aelyria—mind, body, and soul—Maeve’s venom would have been an intriguing prospect.

A sly smirk carved across his pale face when the Princess’s gaze was severed and she was forced to turn her attention elsewhere. The Lord adjusted in his seat, reclining against the back of the chair with a bit more ease than was proper, but not enough that it would draw any attention. "It seems as though the games have begun," he commented quietly, his words just loud enough to drift across steaming platters and empty plates to reach Maeve. His arm extended along the silken table cloth, pinching the stem of his empty goblet between his finger and thumb, spinning it idly as he held her gaze. "If you would grant me a moment to be candid with you, your Grace," he added, slowly leaning forward to sever some of the space between them so that his words did not carry beyond the two of them. "If a man does not set his gaze upon you first above all others, then perhaps his attention is not worthy of your time."

Maeve’s expression softened, if but a fraction, at his words. He was correct, of course he was, yet she could not stop her gaze from jumping to the corner of her eye, crossing the table to where her sister was hidden behind the broad back of Elrik Járnbjørn. "Wise words," she conceded, looking back toward the man across the table from her. "Although," she added with a smile that grew more charming and cunning as she spoke. "I am aware enough to know that your sentiments are also selfserving."

"Of course you are," Rhaevyn replied plainly, his words landing certain and surefooted, lacking any sort of sarcasm or innuendo. "Only an idiot would be daft enough to think they could out wit you." Empty flattery, nothing more, because he was also cunning enough to know when someone was far too enraptured with themselves to see anything beyond it. Maeve was vain, disgustingly so. She had qualities that could make for a good partner or wife, but they all paled in comparison to Aelyria. But, unfortunately, alliances were bred from more than love alone. Power begets power. He simply needed the power that came from a smart match, perhaps an heir if he could stomach bedding the woman… Then there could be an accident. It was simple.

The knot that had tightened along Maeve’s shoulders eased just before Lord Elrik came into view, making his way around the table toward his seat beside her. While Rhaevyn’s words were in fact true, she was also not naive enough to remove someone entirely from her list… not yet. Perhaps the Lord’s judgement, or tastes, were misguided, but this went beyond a slight from a suitor. Her sister was now competition when the thought had not crossed her mind until that moment. That would not do. Lord Rhaevyn had been correct about one thing, the games had begun and Maeve intended to win.

The Princess sat up straighter, following the Lord of Ironcrag out of the corner of her eye as he drifted closer with the decanter in his hands. Her attention fell to her empty goblet, watching and waiting, but then his voice cut through the silence before she ever saw the dark bordeaux pour. "Good evening, your Grace," Elrik offered with practiced etiquette while lowered in a deep bow.

Maeve’s expression did not shift, almost frozen entirely rather than letting her mask slip, revealing the wave of emotions that stirred behind it. Every ounce of self control went into measuring the steady cadence of her breaths and keeping a welcoming enough smile across her lips. The decanter was gone from his hands making it obvious in an instant that the Lord had no intention of offering the same consideration to her that he had for her sister. Her eye might have twitched, small, brief and easily missed, but she quickly hid it behind the show of delicately wiping sweat from her brow, sweat that did not exist. "Good evening, Lord Elrik," she offered in response, because it was proper and expected… and she had to say something.

"The Princess’s first, and then Lord Rhaevyn’s." His voice drew her attention a second time, but when she glanced back over her shoulder she saw some servant with a familiar decanter held in his hands. Maeve clenched her jaw as she turned back around to face forward. The muscle beneath her cheek tensed and pulsed, betraying her attempted resolve as she waited on her wine to be poured.

Meanwhile, Rhaevyn bowed his head toward the Lord while the man settled into the space beside the Princess. "Gratitude, my Lord," he offered, simply because it would cause more problems ignoring him rather than play the part.

Somewhere in the middle of the servant making his rounds, Lord Raelan materialized in the seat beside Rhaevyn, silent and unassuming, not demanding attention but rather settling in the space like he had always been there. Maeve reached for her freshly poured wine and took a drink, because by the nine did she need one. When her goblet settled back down against the navy tablecloth, a smile had curled along her rouged lips as she looked between the three Lords currently in her presence. "My Lords, I must thank you all for making the arduous journey to be here," she began, because someone needed to start the conversation, and if not her then who?

"I must confess, I have never left Thornvale," she continued. Her gaze fell briefly, bashful and coy in some well practiced performance to make herself appear meek and docile, because men needed room to feel important and like their words had meaning. "But I’ve always wished to travel." A lie. Nothing sounded more miserable than spending weeks stuck aboard a ship or confined to a carriage, just to arrive somewhere with a less agreeable climate. "What are your homelands like?" she asked with all the necessary enthusiasm of a woman who actually cared. Her gaze landed on Raelan first before carrying to Rhaevyn, then landing pointedly on Elrik… because if he was too busy humoring her useless questions, then he couldn’t waste anymore time on her sister.

^{interactions ....|.... elrik & raelan ............... mentions ....|.... valerius, seraphina & rhea ............... collabs ....|.... none}

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^{#10636f ....|..... outfit ....|..... ballroom}

Rhea, having forgotten everything her mother had been drilling into her since she was a young child, was unable to find words before Lord Elrik left her where he found her, silent, bewildered, and entirely out of her depth. He spoke to her, several times even, and she said nothing. He professed his intentions to earn her love before seeking her hand in marriage… and she said nothing. Maeve would have had an answer, some response that would beguile any man, something charming and witty, or if nothing else she’d tell Elrik he was too familiar—the more she thought about it, that seemed the most likely. And to be fair, her sister wouldn’t have been entirely wrong. Her and Lord Elrik had never spoken before that moment, and yet there laid his confession, honest and unbidden, set gently before her like the wine he poured. He was too familiar, and Rhea had absolutely no idea how to handle that.

Still… Her gaze followed him as he walked around the table. She watched as he handed off the decanter rather than offering to pour her sister’s wine, and something strange stirred inside her. Was it embarrassment or something darker, like quiet, unspoken pride, because for the first time in her life, Rhea received something that Maeve didn’t. She could have laughed at the way she saw the rage burn bright across her sister’s face, as if everything she had been working towards for months was thwarted in a matter of minutes. Rhea’s lips curled inward, pinned in place by her teeth, just to keep herself from drawing more of her sister’s ire.

In an attempt to distract herself, her gaze swept across the table as chairs slowly began to fill. Many of the seats around her still remained vacant, but as her attention drifted to where her brother helped a Lady into her seat, her eyes snagged on one of the few familiar faces. On the opposite side of the table and down a setting or two sat Emil. When their eyes met, he straightened like he was caught beneath a harsher gaze than her own. For a brief moment, it tugged at something raw beneath Rhea’s ribs, like the scene her mother made might have soured any kindness that could have blossomed between them. But then he smiled. She sighed, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in. Then her hand lifted, just barely visible above the edge of the table, and waved subtly in a small greeting just for him, like an olive branch from one black sheep to another.

When his attention fell, Rhea leaned forward and curled her fingers delicately around her goblet. She paused for a second, staring at the dark crimson liquid before looking up and over at Elrik. The questions started to form again, but before they could take root she pressed the cool metal rim to her lip and drank, hoping that the alcohol would either give her clarity or dull her senses enough that she no longer cared. She found solace hidden within that silver bowl, taking a second or two to calm her breaths and ground herself anew.

As she went to set down her cup and her gaze lifted from dark liquid poured by a noble’s hand, Rhea found the seat opposite no longer empty, but occupied by Lord Imran Ganasen. She watched as he lifted his goblet expectantly, waiting for one of the servants to scurry up to the table and fill it promptly. Her gaze lifted to meet that of the overwhelmed servant, giving him a small, sympathetic smile before he hurried off to help the other Lords.

"I see Lord Járnbjørn has put the rest of us suitors at a disadvantage, Your Grace." Rhea’s attention snapped back to Lord Imran as he spoke. Her eyes widened slightly, breath catching in her throat as if she were caught redhanded. Which was completely ridiculous because she did absolutely nothing wrong, yet the heat returned to her cheeks, flooding her pale skin with a deep flush nearly as red as her hair. She did her best to return his smile, but it never quite reached her eyes as her gaze focused on the golden filigree that decorated the edge of her plate. Her hand seized her goblet a second time, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip, if only to stave off the need to scramble for words when her mind was glaringly absent them. "I cannot blame him, I must admit. Your laugh has brightened the arduous journey to your lovely home."

Her eyes traitorously drifted to Imran’s left where Lord Elrik’s attention was drawn by Maeve, who very intentionally sought to prove that he had wasted his time on the lesser sister, no doubt. Rhea lightly tapped her finger along the side of her goblet before looking back over at the Lord across from her. "I am sure that Lord Elrik was simply trying to be amiable," she offered, assuming—praying—that the Lord of Ironcrag’s confession traveled no farther than her own ears.

While Rhea was never the best at accepting compliments, she accepted it as a convenient distraction—alongside one of the Tyrcell daughters’ incessant whining—to redirect the conversation, lest she melt into a puddle of embarrassment beneath the table. "Do they not have laughter on the Lost Coast?" she mused with a quiet chuckle, her smile growing into something slightly more sincere as she found comfort in gentle banter like she often did with her brothers. "I hate to be the bearer of ill tidings, my Lord, but court often lacks laughter." Her thumb lightly ran along the ornate engravings in the handle of her fork as she studied the man opposite her. "Although my father does try to make things as merry as he can," Rhea added as a warm affection sparked behind her eyes. The love she had for her father was apparent in the way she softened at the mention of him, and just the thought of his presence brought a calmness she had been lacking a moment earlier.

In that moment she found herself wishing to be seated with her father and brothers, for their laughter to roar wild and untamed throughout the ballroom. But even as the nobles settled into the ease of casual conversation, the tension still remained beneath the surface, poised like a blade just out of sight, waiting for the moment anyone stepped out of line… because beneath all the pleasantries, they were all there for one thing and none of them were willing to lose.

^{interactions ....|.... emil & imran ............... mentions ....|.... elrik, maeve & king rowan ............... collabs ....|.... none}

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^{#846d49 ....|..... outfit ....|..... ballroom}

Dorian remained standing by the far end of the table after helping a handful of ladies to their seats. And while there were still unfilled chairs and nobles leisurely making their way into the ballroom, he also felt a pull to take up his own place and greet those seated around him, rather than making them wait longer. He gave it a few more moments before finally pulling out his chair and joining those who sat patient, and silent around him.

Of course, it was only when he was properly seated that he was able to recognize the true gravity of his position. He was surrounded by all the first born ladies of every house, each one beautiful and captivating by her own right. Dorian was never one to feel overwhelmed when surrounded by the company of beautiful people, but this was different than whores and attractive young lechers that wandered into his room at the Black Rose. These were women born, bred, and raised for moments like this. Women that were taught to be ladies, to bolster their husbands, and maybe, if they were lucky, one of them would ensnare the future King… him.

As if his thoughts needed emphasis, a whine echoed down the table from the youngest Tyrcell daughter who was seated by the other undesirable daughters and secondborn sons. "It's so unfair. Why does Bran get seated so close to the prince? She doesn't get things. I get things." Dorian leaned forward slightly, looking down the table toward Lady Junia who complained with all the spoiled righteousness his sister Maeve possessed, but lacked her tact to know when to be silent and when to speak. "She must hate it there."

The Prince let out a strained chuckle as he spared a glance toward the woman’s sister in question, who had muttered something about… mice? Perhaps not all of the ladies came from the same breeding, nor had the burdens of expectations placed upon their shoulders. It was hard to tell if it was their nerves making them act so, or perhaps they were simply mad. There were worse things, he supposed. He gave the women nearest to him a sympathetic smile that lacked some of his usual charm. "Well… I did not realize, until this moment, that my mother’s machinations would be so thinly veiled."

He reached for his goblet, bringing it to his lips to enjoy his first drink out of countless throughout the night. Just as the rich, and overly expensive wine drifted across his tongue, the complaints returned tenfold. "Well, whoever it was, hates our family, clearly, and I must give my retort." The liquid caught in his throat just as he noticed the scrutinizing gaze of his mother peeking around the silver hair of Lady Varrow, trying to catch a glimpse of whomever complained so loud and brazen. The wine burned his esophagus as it slipped down the wrong pipe, and a cough roared free from his chest at the same moment Lady Branwell found herself in similar distress, although entirely oblivious to her sister’s ramblings.

Once he managed to regain control of himself, along with downing the entirety of his goblet of wine, Dorian accepted a refill from one of the servants while his other hand pressed gently against his chest. "My apologies." He spared them each a weak smile and fleeting glance, finding himself feeling more like an idiot that cannot drink rather than a Prince or whatever other wild fantasies his mother had. "I must confess I am not much for court. It is far too formal for my liking and I waste no time making a fool of myself." He cleared his throat and took another sip of wine, being certain to look nowhere besides the silver bowl before him, wishing to avoid another choking catastrophe.

After setting aside his goblet, Dorian lifted his napkin from the table, draping it across his lap before looking down at the arrangement of food on the plate before him. He was becoming acutely aware that he had absolutely no idea how to carry a conversation with so many women waiting on him to start it. What did he talk about? The weather? The ballroom? There were plenty of things he would like to discuss, but he was also vehemently aware of the lingering glances and bated judgments that waited for him to show the kind of man he was. So, naturally, he defaulted to vanity before he could think better of it, not knowing what to comment on beyond their unanimous beauty. "You all look radiant in your family colors." His fork pierced a piece of meat and lifted it toward his mouth, pausing just before taking a bite. "Or so I presume. I never quite mastered my lessons," he confessed with a guilty chuckle that slowly tried to find his usual warmth and charm before taking his first bite.

He chewed his food slowly, taking the time to try and gather his thoughts or senses. "It would appear that I have no idea how to hold a conversation with so many beautiful women." Apparently his senses were on leave.

It was going to be a long night.

^{interactions ....|.... junia, maeve, queen valenya & lady aenora ............... mentions ....|.... aelyria, saphira, selja, zahara, zhara, branwen & junia ............... collabs ....|.... none}

What Lies Below

^{#89684d ....|..... outfit .....|..... weston ranch > main street}

Mornings on the ranch started when the faint glow of the sun kissed the sky beneath the horizon. Amber bled into indigo, and the shadows darkened and stretched before daylight scared them away. The dawn had always been Clint’s favorite time of day. The world had yet to stir awake, existing in a delicate, serene balance, undisturbed by the dregs of society that prowled the night like nocturnal predators. Sunrises were for nature and wildlife. It was for the world as he used to know it, free to exist in a vacuum before modernity suffocated and snuffed it out. He had a deeper, richer appreciation for the sun after spending decades in its absence, surviving on only candlelight and incandescent bulbs like cheap imitations. If the sun was up, then so was Clint, because possibilities were born in the light of day… and Clint liked the man he was by day, rather than the monster he was at night.

Clint had been out tending to his cattle long before the Townsend boys crept onto his property, yawning with large thermoses already half drained of coffee by the time they pushed through the old wooden gate. The frost and dew that clung stubbornly to the long blades of grass crunched underfoot as the men set to filling one of the readied wagons with bales of hay and large pumpkins that had been growing all season just for this occasion. They moved in a synchronous rhythm learned from years of working together, little words shared beyond quiet confirmations and the steady grunts of manual labor.

The first wagon filled quickly, topped off with feed for the animals, three troughs, and a handful of brushes. The second took far more patience and time. Half a dozen wooden cages lined the bottom of the wagon, lids opened and ready for whatever creature was going to be placed inside. They took their time, making sure not to frighten any of the animals, and calm the skittish ones, before placing them gently into their own cage with enough straw to cushion the journey and a few treats, like carrots, to sweeten the deal. When they finished there were two pygmy goats, three young pigs, and half a dozen adolescent hares tucked away safely.

While Coop worked on strapping the ranch’s strongest stallion, Maverick, up to the wagon weighed down with hay and pumpkins, Tucker went and grabbed Tulip, the calmest mare in the stables, so she could pull the cart full of small, caged creatures. Clint, on the other hand, took it upon himself to take the rope tethers and gather up the last remaining animals. First was Sunflower, a pony already saddled and ready to give kids a ride around the pen. Followed by Walter the alpaca, and Dandy the sheep.

When he returned to the small assembled herd, Coop and Tucker sat on top of the fence, passing a cigarette back and forth while taking a small break. "Y’know that’ll kill ya," Clint goaded them, sparing the young men an incredulous look from beneath the brim of his hat as he looped the animals’ tethers loosely around Tulip’s breeching.

The brothers both laughed, smoke billowing from their mouths in white ribbons. "It’s a vape," Coop countered, holding up the small plastic contraption like it made a lick of sense to him.

Clint sighed, pushing off his knees as he stood upright. "I don’t reckon it makes much of a difference."

Tucker took one more hit that smelled faintly of strawberries before sliding the device into his jacket pocket and hopping down from the fence. "But you’re like a cowboy or whatever… Shouldn’t you dip or chew or whatever the hell you old people call it?"

A laugh, deep and unbidden, roared to life in Clint’s chest. The irony of ‘old’ hitting a little harder than either of the young men intended. "I used to—centuries ago—when I was young blooded, such as yourselves," he mused, playing into their jokes about age with a surprising truth that they’d be none the wiser to. "But then I realized I like my teeth more than the fleetin’ rush from tobacco." His smile widened, bright, white, and undeniably charming. Sure, over a century of chewing never made a dent on his smile, but he read about the newer discoveries, and what have you, and while they didn’t affect him personally, there was nothing wrong with advocating for healthier life choices. Plus, the blood of a nonsmoker tasted significantly better.

Clint dipped his hand into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pack of spearmint gum. He flipped open the paper box and pulled out a single piece of gum, then tucked the pack back into his pocket for safe keeping. Calloused fingers patiently started peeling back the silver foil, revealing the thin green rectangle covered in glistening sugar crystals. "I also discovered that ladies prefer a man that smells—and tastes—like mint over tobacco." His grin widened knowingly as he popped the piece of gum into his mouth and started chewing.

The brothers spared each other a quick sidelong glance before they both doubled over in laughter, gripping their sides and slapping their knees as their roars carried across the field and stirred a flock of birds. "Ladies? What ladies?" Coop wheezed out between laughs, hardly able to catch his breath.

Clint shook his head and rolled his eyes as he made his way over to his horse that was tied to a fence post off to the side. He lifted up his hat for a second to slick back his hair before setting it securely back on top of his head. As he approached the loyal mare, he gave her an affectionate stroke to the mane along with a gentle whisper. "Atta girl, Obbie." Then curled up in the grass not far from the horse, a blue speckled cattle dog stirred awake with a big yawn. Clint crouched down and gave the boy some ear scratches that brought his tail to life, beating against the ground and stirring the early morning bugs with its lively wag.

As he stood back up, he glanced over his shoulder toward the farm hands as their laughter eased while they wiped tears from their eyes. "It’s called a private life for a reason, boys," Clint replied, used to the playful jabs and barbs hurled around between himself and the men that worked for him. He reached up, grabbing the horn of the saddle while he slipped his left foot into the stirrup. Then with the ease of a man who had been riding since he could walk, he hoisted himself up in a single fluid motion, swinging his other leg over the back of the horse, and setting into the seat. He gathered up the reins in his left hand as he gently guided Obbie over toward the wagons, his cattle dog, Spur, stretching dramatically and following after them.

When the horse came to a stop, he rested his hands lazily against the saddle horn, looking back and forth between the amused young men. "I also don’t recall seein’ either of you sportin’ a young lady on your arms while walkin’ through town."

Coop and Tucker’s laughter stopped abruptly as they shared a glance, and coughed around their own embarrassment. "That’s what I thought," Clint mused with a quiet chuckle of his own. "Alright. Coop I want you with Maverick at the front. Tucker you’ll be with Tulip. Take the others with ya." He nodded his head toward the pony, alpaca, and sheep that waited patiently beside the horse in question. "Spur ‘n I will be at the back, or directin’ traffic if needed."

The young men laughed once again as they drifted toward their assigned positions. "Directing traffic," Tucker mused as he gathered up the rope tethers.

"Yeah, well," Clint conceded with a sigh and a shrug of one shoulder. "The Mayor paid for all that fancy advertisin’, so who knows how busy this place’ll get." He ran his hands along the leather of the reins, finding his grip as he adjusted himself in the saddle. "We’ll take it nice ‘n slow. Walk right into town ‘n down Main Street. There’s no rush, so let the animals set the pace."

Their journey toward the center of town was slow, having to stop more than once to get Walter’s lazy ass in gear. And while Pine Ridge had started stirring to life as the sun crested over the tops of trees, their trek was rather uneventful with citizens giving them a wide berth and a wave, or going a different route entirely. It seemed as though there wasn’t much of a need to take tourists into consideration, until it very much became their problem in the worst way possible.

They weren’t far from Main Street, no more than a block, when a minivan—far newer and more expensive than most of the metal contraptions that plagued the streets—came barrelling down the street, faster than any of the posted speed signs, careless, and obviously in a hurry. Their brakes squealed as they waited far too long to slow down, stopping close enough to Obbie’s heels that she huffed, shook her head, and cantered forward a couple steps. Clint glared back at the driver over his shoulder while stroking his horse’s mane to try and keep her calm, but he didn’t hurry or move his procession aside. They weren’t far now, and like everyone else, they could either wait or go around. It wasn’t like the festival was starting in five minutes anyway.

It lasted for no more than thirty seconds before a loud horn sliced through the cold mountain air, piercing and alarming against the quiet backdrop of their peaceful town. Obbie reared, startled and frightened, hooves carving sharp arcs. Clint reacted on instinct before he could think, leaning forward to counter balance the shift in his mount, thighs gripping firmly to her chest while his hold on her reins tightened. Underfoot, Spur yelped and dashed onto the sidewalk, narrowly missing one of the hooves as it came back down to the ground. Meanwhile Coop struggled with Maverick’s leads, trying to calm the large stallion before he tore through the town with the wagon in tow, and Tucker held tight to the rope leads, doing his best to keep Sunflower, Walter, and Dandy from running off in all different directions.

Leather groaned beneath Clint’s grip as he did his best to calm himself, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the dull ache of his fangs against his lower lip. The tip of his tongue ran along the edge of his teeth, in an attempt to steel his temper with measured breaths. But that only lasted long enough for his fangs to retract, then he moved. Leaving his men to handle his rattled livestock, Clint dismounted in one smooth, fluid motion. He tethered Obbie’s reins to a nearby street sign, then turned and headed toward the vehicle.

"Boss," one of the Townsend boys called after him, but he paid them no mind.

His spurs clicked against the asphalt in a slow, rhythmic beat as he approached the idling minivan. He tapped two knuckles against the driver’s side window. His face was a picture of easy, sun-baked charm, a polite smile pulling at the corners of his mouth beneath the shadow of his Stetson. When the window rolled down, Clint rested his left forearm on the roof of the car while his right hand flicked his hat back just enough for the golden glow of morning sun to catch in his eyes. "Mornin’ folks," he greeted them with a grin and the quiet pop of chewing gum.

The driver, a balding middle aged man, red in the face with a ring of sweat around the collar of his shirt, looked Clint up and down with visible distaste. "Aren’t you a little old for Halloween?" he practically snarled.

Clint laughed, perhaps a little forced, but it looked genuine enough in the way his head tilted back slightly and his hand lightly slapped the side of the car. "Now if I had a nickel for every time I heard that." He let out an amused little whistle as his right thumb hooked on his belt beside his holster, a motion that was subconscious, born of comfort and repetition. But not so much to the tourists. The husband shared a panicked sidelong glance with his wife, knuckles turning white along the steering wheel as his gaze snapped back to the revolver then up to the cowboy. Clint’s attention followed, punctuated with a quiet click of his tongue. "Don’t you worry yourselves about that, friends. It’s for the wolves. Big ole pack runs through the Black Hills," he added, waving his finger toward the woods around them. "Never can be too safe." He patted the side of his holster once for emphasis before making an effort to rest his hand a decent ways from it.

He leaned over a bit, getting a better look at the man’s equally frazzled wife, along with their pair of ankle bitters sitting in the backseat, who looked far more entertained at the concept of a living and breathing cowboy standing just outside the car. "Y’all in town for the festival?" Clint asked, his drawl thick and smooth as molasses.

"Yeah, yes," the driver responded quickly with a curt nod, his stress evident in the tensing of his shoulders and the contorting of his face. "Just got in. Drove through the night. Would really like to—"

"Say," Clint interrupted, not giving a shit about whatever the man’s excuses were, instead lowering his head and looking past him to get a better view of his kids. "’Bet you kids like pettin’ zoos."

The children practically bounced in their seats with palpable excitement while their mother spared them an affectionate, albeit incredulous glance. "It’s all they’ve been talking about."

"I figured. Most kids do." Clint’s smile widened, but it never quite reached his eyes as he looked back at the driver. "’Well, you kids can thank your pa for not being allowed near my pettin’ zoo tonight… Seein’ how he spooked my animals ‘n nearly got my dog killed."

The little girl’s lip began to quiver, and within a matter of seconds, the car devolved into a cacophony of loud wails and flailing limbs. The mom unbuckled her seat belt, quickly turning around to try and sooth her kids as best she could. "Oh, sweetie. No, it’s ok—Shh. It’s ok." The woman’s gaze then snapped to Clint, brows furrowed as her face reddened to nearly the same shade as her husband's. "Look what you did. Was that really necessary?"

"Apologies, ma’am. But your husband scared my livestock. I simply returned the favor in kind."

"Gary!" the woman squealed nearly as loud as her own children, not knowing if her anger should be directed at Clint, her husband, or perhaps both.

The driver thumped his forehead against the steering wheel twice, no doubt a man who had long suffered the naggings of his wife regarding his own lack of patience or piss poor attitude.

Clint’s hand slipped in through the open window and caught the man’s sweat slick forehead before he slammed it down a third time. He couldn’t help but grimace slightly at the moisture along his fingers as he pushed him back until his head bumped softly into the headrest. "Careful. We wouldn’t wanna make the same mistake twice, now would we?"

"Look, man—sir," the man started his groveling. Clint wasn’t entirely sure if it was on his behalf or more out of fear of his wife, but he couldn’t help but be moderately entertained as he watched the driver panic as he tried to make things right. "It was an accident. My hand slipped—"

"Your hand slipped?" Clint echoed, his brows lifting in quiet disbelief.

"I wasn’t thinking. I’m tired—We were just trying to get to the motel before it was all booked—I’m sorry. Is your dog ok?" The man continued to ramble, his eyes darting back and forth between his fuming wife beside him, the screaming kids in the backseat, and Clint still leaning against the side of the minivan waiting for the truth in the slew of his lies. "Look, I can make this right—" He leaned to the side, hand diving behind him as he fumbled for his wallet.

Before he was even able to flip the black leather open and dig for cash, Clint laughed, his expression twisting into a mix of amusement, bewilderment, and pure disbelief. "I don’t want your paper, friend," he commented between chuckles with a small shake of his head. "Those animals are my livelihood, ‘n that dog is my family. Your money don’t ease their jitters or buy back a broken leg."

The man sighed, sweat trickling down the side of his face while his wife beside him bounced back and forth between trying to calm the kids and whispering expletives in her husband’s ear. "Please," he practically begged, desperation and exhaustion plain across his face. "They’ve been looking forward to this all week. We drove all the way from Wichita."

"Then you should have practiced some patience," Clint replied as his sunny disposition dropped entirely, replaced with a grave seriousness and anger behind his eyes. "I don’t want you, nor your kin, anywhere near my pens tonight. ‘N if you scare my animals again, I’ll slash your fuckin’ tires. Do we understand each other?"

The driver gritted his teeth, kids growing louder and more despondent in the backseat, while his wife leaned back in her seat with her arms crossed furiously over her chest. No words were shared, just the faintest nod of acknowledgement.

Clint stood up straight, adjusting the brim of his hat with a crisp, polite flick of his wrist as his charming smile widened brightly and slipped right back into place, like it had never left. "Now y’all enjoy the festival," he offered warmly, giving the car door a friendly pat before taking a step back. "And welcome to Pine Ridge."

Before he reached Obbie, the minivan was thrown into reverse. And if Clint was a betting man, he imagined that sweaty driver had every intention to floor it until his wife nagged in his ear about not scaring the animals, because that car crawled backwards so slow, he wondered if it was moving at all.

He didn’t spare them another glance as he checked on Spur, making sure he was ok, then untied his horse from around the street sign. By the time he climbed back on top of Obbie and settled himself in the saddle, the minivan was nowhere to be seen. He reached up to adjust his hat, looking over Coop and Tucker who both stood nearby, a little confused, but mostly laughing. "What are y’all gawkin’ at?" The brothers shared a sidelong glance, snickered, then returned to their posts alongside each of the carts. "Let’s get these animals to the pen before I end up killin’ one of these damn tourists."

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... none}

Nidavellir

tester

Descendants

Luke lingered after Tobias left, slouched lazily in his chair while the room slowly emptied around them. One by one the others filtered into the hallway until only silence remained, heavy and humming beneath the distant sounds of the tower. Across the room, Bellamy drifted toward the windows like she’d been pulled there unconsciously, arms crossed tight around herself as sunlight spilled across the glass. Luke watched her for a long moment without shame, blue eyes tracking every small tell, the stiffness in her shoulders, the fragile tension in her posture, the way grief still seemed to weigh visibly against her ribs. Prey animals stood like that sometimes, right before they bolted.

Slowly, Luke rose to his feet. He didn’t approach her directly at first, instead wandering toward the windows with practiced ease, hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks. His reflection joined hers in the glass long before he stood beside her, tall and broad and deceptively relaxed beneath the midday light. "Hell of a meeting for your first real day here," he said softly, voice warm in a way that immediately lowered defenses.

Bellamy startled faintly before glancing toward him, surprise flickering across her tired face. "I’ve… definitely had calmer mornings," she admitted quietly. Her smile was small and uncertain, polite despite the exhaustion hanging from every word.

Luke chuckled under his breath and stepped a little closer, shoulder nearly brushing hers as he looked out toward the pool. "You handled yourself well," he murmured. "Most people would’ve cracked under all that pressure."

Bellamy blinked at him, visibly caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone. "Oh," she said softly. "Thank you." Somehow, without her noticing exactly when it happened, Luke had moved closer again. Not enough to touch her, not enough to seem overtly threatening, but enough that the space around her began to feel smaller. The cool glass pressed faintly against her chest while one of Luke’s hands settled beside her shoulder against the window frame. Crowding. Deliberate.

"You know," he said quietly, gaze dragging across her face in a way that made her stomach tighten in anxiety, "You don’t have to pretend you feel safe here." Bellamy’s breath caught as his voice stayed soft, almost intimate despite the discomfort creeping up her spine. "People in this tower?" he continued, lowering his head slightly. "They love broken things. Makes them feel important. Useful." The words slid into her chest like cold water.

"Tobias isn’t like that," Bellamy replied quickly, something defensive bled into the edges of her voice before she could stop it.

Luke smiled then, but there was nothing warm about it now. "No," he agreed softly. "Tobias is worse." Sunlight scattered across the water of the pool, bright and beautiful behind the reflection of Luke’s smile in the glass.

Bellamy twisted suddenly like she meant to leave, the instinctive retreat of an animal finally recognizing danger too close to escape comfortably. She barely made it half a step before Luke’s hand caught her shoulder. His grip tightened instantly, fingers digging in just enough to stop her momentum before he pushed her backward against the window in one smooth motion, knocking the air from her lungs with the force of it. The glass trembled faintly behind her spine as he stepped in after her, broad frame blocking out the room until they stood nearly chest to chest.

Bellamy’s breath stuttered hard in her lungs. Her eyes widened openly now, panic finally stripping away the politeness and uncertainty she’d been clinging to. One of Luke’s hands stayed firm against her shoulder while the other planted beside her head against the glass, trapping her neatly between himself and the pool outside the window. She could smell chlorine and cologne and something warmer beneath it, something sharp and masculine that made the situation feel horribly intimate. Her pulse hammered so violently she was sure he could feel it.

"His dad is Magneto," Luke said softly, the words dropping into the space between them like stones sinking through dark water. Bellamy’s stomach twisted as his grip tightened fractionally against her shoulder, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her she wasn’t going anywhere. His mouth hovered near her ear while sunlight poured across the glass behind them, completely at odds with the cold panic building beneath her skin. "And you know what they say about men like Magneto?" he continued quietly. "Men who build kingdoms out of fear don’t stay powerful by being merciful."

Bellamy swallowed hard, breath catching unevenly in her chest as she tried to pull back further and found nowhere left to go. Luke leaned closer instead, broad frame hemming her in while his voice remained low and horribly calm. "Powerful people will do anything to hold onto what they have," he said. "They’ll sell their souls. They’ll sell the souls of their children." His lips brushed deliberately against the edge of her ear when he spoke next. "They’ll murder children and families if it means protecting their empire."

Cold spread sharply beneath Bellamy’s palms. Thin white veins of frost splintered across the glass behind her fingers while her breathing turned shallow and uneven. Her pulse hammered violently enough to make her dizzy as Luke’s voice continued threading through her panic like poison. "Everyone’s terrified of the disappearances right now," he murmured. "But what if that’s the point?" His eyes searched her face carefully, watching fear take root. "What if it’s all smoke and mirrors while people like Magneto clean house behind the scenes?"

Bellamy shook her head quickly, but the movement lacked conviction now. Tobias’s face flashed through her mind, gentle hands, soft reassurances, the careful way he’d looked at her, and Luke twisted the knife before she could hold onto it. "Mutants who don’t fall in line disappear first," he said softly. "And if it isn’t Magneto himself?" He shrugged faintly. "Then maybe Tobias learned from him anyway. Sons usually do."

"Stop," Bellamy whispered weakly, panic bleeding openly through her voice now. Her hands pressed harder against the frozen glass as though she could somehow melt into it and escape him. Luke didn’t move. Didn’t blink. She took a shuddering breath, and refused—refused to listen to his words, to his attempt to sow mistrust between her and the one person she felt like she could trust. Bellamy mustered as much courage as she could, and glared up at him. "You’re wrong about Tobias. Let me go."

Luke’s eyes narrowed at the defiance in her voice, something cold and irritated flickering briefly beneath the charm he usually wore so effortlessly. His hand tightened on her shoulder without warning, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt this time. Bellamy’s breath hitched sharply as pain shot through her arm, the fragile spark of courage twisting instantly into fear across her face. The frost on the glass behind her spread wider in thin frantic fractures.

"You don’t know Tobias," Luke said quietly, almost cruelly calm.

He leaned closer still, forcing her to hold his gaze while tears started to gather in the corners of her wide eyes. "You know the version of him that benefits from keeping you obedient, dependent, and scared enough to stay close to him." His thumb pressed once against the aching spot beneath her collarbone, refusing to ease even slightly, even as the pain in her face became more pronounced. "That’s not the same thing."

Outside in the hallway everyone else began dispersing, disappearing in various directions, up stairwells or into the elevator. Tobias lingered a few paces back while Myla listened to Alfred explaining how to use the tablet in his hand. Of course, a touch screen of any kind was useless to her, but she still gave him her undivided attention, if only to make sure she could relay it back to Bellamy. It wasn’t much to offer, clothes and a softer helping hand, but Myla knew what it felt like to be alone and to have lost a father. It was sympathy, patience, and understanding… Which seemed to be in short supply in the tower at the moment.

Tobias didn’t encroach on their space or insert himself into the conversation, he simply listened with a quiet sort of gratitude knowing that at least one other person was willing to help with the small things, without a prejudice towards mutants or judgements for what he did. There was a faint smile that grew as he watched them both, meeting Alfred’s gaze whenever he looked with a nod.

Myla had gotten good at learning how to filter out other noises, like Magni and Imogen’s voracious sex life, or the occasional distant sirens she couldn’t chase even if she wanted to. It was like a dampening switch in her mind, turning it all to a soft hum like white noise, if only to keep her sanity. It kept most things at bay, unless there was a scream, or cry, or someone shouted her name. So the sinister twinge in Luke’s voice didn’t initially cut through her sharpened focus on Alfred. It wasn’t until she heard the tremble of glass beneath pressure that it started to push its way through. She didn’t interrupt or stop him, but her head turned a fraction to the left, then tilted a degree to the right like an owl listening for the soft shuffling of its prey.

A heart raced loud and fast like the one woman she had found cornered in an alley near Harlem. It was more than an elevation from anxiety or discomfort, but from a lack of safety, from fear and helplessness. Myla’s hand extended, lightly pressing against Alfred’s shoulder, stopping him in the middle of saying something about Amazon. Her eyes narrowed, ears attuning to Bellamy’s plea on the other side of the wall and the sinister calm tinge to Luke’s words. Her head snapped toward Tobias, whose smile immediately faded, replaced with the weight of something that had yet to fall into his lap. "Bellamy—" was all she managed to say, all she needed to say before he moved.

Tobias pivoted without a word, turning and heading back toward the conference room with the same urgency he had the night before, navigating heavy rain and the thicket of a forest. He didn’t bother reaching for the doorknob. His right hand waved to the side and the door followed, metal latch releasing, hinges giving beneath his control, and the door flew open with a strong enough force that the handle punched a small hole into the drywall. He stepped into the room, eyes first locking on the chair she once sat in, now vacant, before sweeping across the table toward the far windows. Luke’s body was a barricade, blocking him from seeing her at first. There was only the frost that crept up the window in sharp splinters the same way it did along the glass shower walls the night before. Then he saw a glimpse of brunette hair beside Luke’s hand where he gripped a shoulder with enough dominance that his knuckles were white.

That was all it took.

He didn’t even move, not at first. It was only Tobias’s eyes that fell to the large conference table separating them, then his gaze snapped to the left wall. It happened so fast that it wasn’t the movement that made a sound, but the collision that followed that reverberated like someone had driven a semi through the lobby of the tower. There was a fraction of a second where every screw holding the table together, its artistically arched steel legs, and the metal framing of the office chairs shifted before every piece of furniture in the room slammed into the left wall as if it had immediately flipped polarity. The wooden surface splintered and cracked under the force, chairs broke into pieces, and plastic wheels flew across the floor.

His right extended out before him, fingers spread, as his powers shot out from him in intangible tendrils, and knotted itself around every piece of metal on Luke’s body: shoe eyelets, belt buckle, watch, even the iron in his blood. Tobias’s fingers curled into a tight fist before shoving his hand to the right, and the blond followed. His shoes skidded across the polished tile as he was dragged across the room, then slammed into the opposite wall with enough force to leave behind a Luke sized crater.

Tobias didn’t stop to ask questions or for an explanation. He didn’t need one. He saw enough. His gaze was fixed on Luke as he crossed the room with a fury so dark beneath his eyes that it was unlike anything anyone within that tower might have seen from him before. For the first time since he ever set foot into the Academy he wasn’t a boy trying to atone for the crimes of his father, but a man tapping into every horror his father had taught him. He could have killed him. It would have been quick, done in an instant before one more single disgusting word fell from the lips of a man he once called a friend. Tobias would be lying if he said the thought didn’t cross his mind. But death was quick, and final, and he wanted retribution with his bare hands.

He closed the distance between them in long heavy strides, not releasing his hold on him until they were face to face. Then, as they stood less than a foot apart, Tobias's imperceivable grasp dropped just long enough to draw back his right arm and throw it forward with every ounce of strength he possessed. Against a normal man a blow like that would have blackened an eye, broken a cheek or a nose, and left him dizzy. But Luke was not normal. Super soldier bullshit coursed through his veins. It’d still hurt, but not as much as the splintering pain that radiated from Tobias’s knuckles, along his hand, and up his wrist. It was like punching a concrete wall full force, but his face didn’t flinch with a single care, adrenalin overpowering reason.

The sound hit Bellamy first. Wood exploded against drywall with a crack that rattled through her ribs, chairs skidding and snapping apart across the polished floor while frost climbed higher along the glass beside her in thin white veins. She jerked at the violence of it, breath catching sharply in her throat, but she never looked away from Tobias. One second he had been gone, the next he stood in the ruined doorway with fury burning through him so complete it altered the shape of the room itself. She had seen him violent before, had watched him kill for her in the rain, but this felt different—stripped bare, controlled only by the thinnest thread, every movement direct and purposeful in a way that made her pulse jump hard against the base of her throat.

Relief flooded her so quickly it left her dizzy. Luke’s hand was gone from her shoulder, Tobias was here, and some terrified knot inside her loosened the instant she realized she was no longer alone with him. But the relief tangled immediately with something hotter and far more dangerous when Tobias crossed the room toward Luke with that dark, terrible focus fixed in his eyes. Bellamy stood frozen beside the window, hands curled tight at her sides, watching the flex of his shoulders beneath his shirt, the sharp set of his jaw, the raw certainty in every step he took. The punch landed with a sickening crack that echoed through the conference room, and despite everything, despite the fear still clawing at the inside of her chest, despite the shaking in her legs, her stomach twisted hard with sudden, helpless attraction. Heat flushed up the back of her neck so fast it bordered on humiliating.

Thank God Imogen had left the room. Bellamy thought she might actually die if someone with telepathy caught hold of her thoughts right now. She could barely make sense of them herself, rooted to the spot and staring at Tobias like she’d never seen something quite like him before. The sight of him glowering at Luke, knuckles already swelling from the force of the blow and utterly uncaring about it, sent another sharp rush of warmth through her chest that she absolutely did not have the emotional stability to unpack. So she stayed silent instead, breathing shallowly, eyes fixed on him while frost continued to creep slowly across the edges of the window at her back.

Pain burst white across Luke’s face the instant Tobias’s fist connected. Bone cracked wetly beneath the force of it, his head snapping sideways hard enough to spray blood across the marble floor in bright red drops. He hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it, it wasn’t like he could control all the metal in the fucking room. Mutants… it’ll be better when they’re all dead. The taste flooded his mouth immediately, salt and copper thick on his tongue, and then he laughed. The sound came rough through the blood pouring from his nose as he straightened slowly, one hand wiping across the lower half of his face before flicking the red carelessly onto the floor beside him. His blue eyes burned when they lifted back toward Tobias, heat and humiliation and fury all tangled together beneath the surface.

"Fuck," he rasped with a grin that showed pink teeth. "I’ve met girls who hit harder."

He rolled his jaw once, nostrils crunching faintly beneath his fingers as he shoved the broken cartilage back into place with practiced brutality. Another laugh escaped him at the sharp burst of pain. "You’re getting so sensitive in your old age, just like your father." he sneered. "We were talking, you shouldn’t be so protective of your little girlfriend."

Then he moved. No warning. No posturing. Luke drove forward with the kind of speed that came from years of training under men who believed hesitation got people killed. His fist slammed into Tobias with enough force to launch him backward across the room, furniture exploding apart beneath the impact while the floor groaned under the weight of it. Luke followed two steps after him before stopping, chest rising steadily, blood still dripping from his nose onto his shirt.

"I know relying on your powers makes you sloppy," he called across the wreckage, voice sharp with contempt. "But you should really try learning how to actually fight."

He started toward him again, shoulders squared and eyes cold, but Bellamy moved first. She planted herself between them with shaking courage, arms spread slightly as if her body alone could stop what came next. Fear widened her eyes, frost still webbing across the glass beside her, but she held her ground anyway. Luke slowed at the sight of her standing there in front of Tobias, blood drying on his mouth while something hard and unreadable settled across his face. For one terrible second, it looked like he might hit her too.

Tobias flew backwards across the room, slamming into the half-destroyed mountain of furniture like he weighed nothing. Wood splintered under the force of it, sending pieces of the table in all directions around the room. The collision knocked the breath from his lungs before his body settled in the heap. He coughed and gasped for air and with every rise and fall of his chest a sharp pain pierced his side. He grimaced, shifting up onto his left elbow with a groan while Luke continued his posturing.

Sticking out from his side was a splintered piece of the table the size of a stake. "Fuck," he grunted through gritted teeth. He could already hear Luke approaching, debris crunching beneath the soles of his shoes. Tobias was too stubborn to lose that easily, too determined to wipe that smug smile off his face and not let up until he put fear in Luke’s eyes like he had done to Bellamy. His fingers curled around the piece of wood and yanked it free without a second thought. A gasp came first, followed by the warm wetness of blood pooling against his shirt and running down his side. He needed to stand up, get back on his feet before Luke hit him again. Blood slicked fingers pressed against tile, digging into shards of metal, and chipped wood. Adrenalin and purpose dulled his senses, but it also made his heart race and the blood pump faster.

When he looked up, he wasn’t met with Luke’s fury or a fist bearing down on his face, but a small brunette standing between them. Her arms were trembling and he could see the fear in the tension along her shoulders, but she didn’t back down, steadfast and frightened and brave enough to look it in the face and not back down. Tobias had always been a shield, taking hit after hit for others without ever expecting anything in return. It wasn’t a burden but a duty set upon himself in the hopes that each blow would take him one step closer to being more than his mistakes. But only one person had ever chosen to be his shield, only his mom… until now. It made something impossibly warm tighten in his chest.

Before Tobias could even attempt to unpack what it meant, he caught a glimmer of something sadistic and violent behind Luke’s eyes as he looked down at Bellamy. He watched the muscles flex and tighten along the man’s arms and in that fraction of a second he recognized Luke’s dark intent, something he saw countless times in his own father’s eyes. "Don’t even fucking think about it," he whispered with a furious calmness that was more haunting than shouting ever could be.

Tobias didn’t give Luke an opportunity to react or even attempt to swing on her before the shattered remains of the conference room shifted around him. Metal tore free from a broken chair, elongating in the air into a silver rope. It wrapped around Bellamy’s waist, as gently as it could, and dragged her across the room toward the door until she was caught by Myla, who had been lingering on the edge of the room, observing but unable to intervene. She instinctively guided Bellamy behind her, keeping one hand securely wrapped around the girl’s arm, and sparing her a shake of her head that said this was one fight they couldn’t get in the middle of.

Once Bellamy was out of the line of fire, he didn’t hesitate, raising his leg and throwing his foot full force into Luke’s knee. When he stumbled back a step, Tobias climbed to his feet, and slammed his head straight into the man’s already broken nose. He felt the bone shift beneath the blow with a sickening crunch. A cold, dizzying ache bloomed across his forehead, the skin split, and a trail of crimson trickled down between his brows and along his cheek. Before Luke could regain his footing, Tobias was there again, shoulder shoved into his chest, arms around his waist, as he tackled him back against the wall. His left arm raised, forearm pressing hard against Luke’s neck to keep him pinned in place. It wouldn’t last long, Tobias’s raw strength was no contest for a super soldier, yet every fiber and muscle of his being pressed the man against the wall, determined to hold him there.

"So, you like hitting women?" he grunted through clenched teeth, his voice dropping to little more than a whisper as he leaned in close, nearly nose to nose. The struggle to keep Luke in place was visible in the tensing muscles across Tobias’s face, but he didn’t rush through it, taking his time so each word landed exactly the way he wanted it to. His gaze dragged across his opponent, assessing him with a newfound level of disgust and hatred. "You seem like the type."

Tobias pressed his arm harder against Luke’s throat, leaning his entire body into it. "Only cowards hit women… Insecure men with fragile egos who cower in the shadows of their fathers." His tone got sharper and more violent, spitting each word out like an accusation that he was too blind to see until that moment. "Does it make you feel strong? Powerful?" His dark, furious gaze never left Luke’s not for a single beat, not even when the man couldn’t bring himself to look back. "I could kill you before you lifted a fucking finger and not break a sweat." Then he leaned closer, severing the distance between them with strangled breaths, sweat, and the iron tinge of blood. "That’s power. You’re just a parasite that likes to prey on the weak… You’re pathetic."

Rage hit Luke hot and absolute, flooding his vision red around the edges while Tobias’s forearm crushed against his throat. The pressure, the blood running into his mouth, the disgust in Tobias’s eyes—it all blurred together until instinct took over completely. He drove his fist into Tobias’s ribs once, twice, three times in rapid succession, each hit landing with enough force to bruise organs beneath skin and muscle. Then he twisted violently, hooked an arm beneath Tobias’s shoulder, and slammed him sideways into the wall hard enough to crack plaster and send framed metal fixtures crashing to the floor around them.

"You don’t know a fucking thing about me." Luke hit him again before the words even finished leaving his mouth. His fist crashed into Tobias’s face, then his stomach, then the split skin along his forehead where blood already poured freely down his features. Years of brutal training showed in every movement. No wasted motion, no hesitation, he fought like someone taught from childhood that mercy got you killed and weakness got you buried.

"You self-righteous fucking cunt," he snarled, grabbing Tobias by the front of his shirt and driving his knee sharply into his side where the splinter wound still bled through soaked fabric. "You think because you throw yourself in front of people it makes you a hero?"

The conference room dissolved around them in flashes of violence, metal screaming through the air, broken furniture grinding beneath boots, blood smearing across white marble tile. Luke barely registered any of it. His nose streamed crimson down over his mouth and chin while fury hollowed him out from the inside, leaving only movement and impact and the desperate need to make Tobias shut up.

"You sound just like him," he spat viciously, slamming Tobias backward again. "Always talking about power like you’re above wanting it."

His fist collided with Tobias’s jaw once more with a sickening crack, but he wasn’t hitting as hard as he had been a moment ago, as if some subconscious part of him realized what he was doing was wrong. A sound from the edge of the room broke through the haze of his rage. Bellamy cried out each time he hit Tobias, but he didn’t look to see if she was trying to make her way toward them. The idea that Tobias had someone who cared about him like that only served to make him angrier. "At least I know what I am."

Myla couldn’t help by flinch as Luke unleashed his full, unbridled fury on Tobias. Every squelch, crunch, snap of his body beneath the super soldier’s might sent a sick chill through her stomach as if she could feel every hit through her own aches and bruises. Her hold on Bellamy tightened the moment the girl started screaming, not enough to bruise, but rigid enough to keep her in place before she flung herself into the middle of it. As the punches kept coming in rapid succession, she contemplated running in, but what the hell could she do? She wasn’t super strong like Luke, and she wasn’t a mutant. Sure, she probably could have fought him better… technically. Dodged punches and shit until he grew tired but that was a gamble when one hit could put her in the hospital or worse.

Who could even break it up? Magni… Theo? The thought struck her sharp in the chest and before she knew she was doing it, Myla felt herself listening for him deeper in the tower, wondering if he heard the commotion, or if she was lucky enough, him and June were already lost in… whatever it was they were doing. The last thing she wanted was for him to get into another fight, or get hurt breaking one up, but she also knew that Tobias and Luke weren’t being particularly quiet, and somehow Theo always knew whenever anything fell apart around her, even if she wasn’t involved.

Theo, who was deep in conversation with June about the mechanics of the bracelets, did feel the strangest tingle, though they’d wandered far enough away to not hear the commotion. If the two of them watched the ensuing fight on June’s phone, well… no one had to know that they ‘ooo’d’ and ‘ahh’d’ as they watched what unfolded next.

Magni had been down the hall speaking to Phil when the cacophony began. He could recognize the sounds of martial combat anywhere, but knew well from the sounds of creaking metal who at least one of the combatants was. He was not particularly fleet of foot as he made his way towards the conference room. He saw the woman his partner had helped locate held at bay by Myla, and moved in to stand behind them both. As he glanced into the room, the viciousness of the fight was readily apparent. Part of him wanted to call it off, to pick them both up by the scruff like cats and take them to their respective corners. He knew well, though, that Tobias could handle himself. He had seen both men fight, but Luke was punching above his limits without the proper precaution. His face fell as he saw blows traded back and forth, friend fighting friend for the sake of bloodshed. He had expected better of them both.

Tobias was meek when they were at the Academy together. He had suffered greatly in his youth, avoiding conflict and interaction until he had taken the man under his wing. The son of a villain, he wanted a legacy and reputation all his own. He was a tempering influence on the wild godling, a reminder of the virtues of compassion and moderation. He was a reminder of the importance of peace in a universe that thrived on violence. Lucian was the opposite, for he was a man chasing a legacy that seemed too big for one man alone. He craved approval, acceptance, accolades, adoration… he wanted to live up to the expectations laid out before him and exceed them. Magni understood that weight of expectation. They were both brave, strong men of character. Now, they were beating the brakes off each other with everything they had.

Jules, for her part, settled herself with her back against the wall across the hall. The sound of wet slaps of flesh connecting with flesh, the sprays of blood… the only shame was Luke was holding his own. Reputation was everything in their line of work, and Luke’s reputation was sorely overstated. While the Stark kid had proven himself to be a self-sabotaging fool, Luke was trying to speedrun the complete implosion of his standing without so much as making a dent in the social order of the tower. Jules’ eyes remained fixed on Bellamy early in the fight, noting the hint of blush on her cheeks and slight change in posture. While Luke may have hoped to scare off the poor girl, Jules had a sneaking suspicion that Bellamy’s desire to stay by Tobias’ side was only going to strengthen. The team had common targets to focus their ire, and such a display could strengthen the bonds that were forming. Lucian Rogers was an idiot, a fool, a lecher, and a bad spy. How long before the rest of the team figured that out? If he was lucky, the heroes would be too busy drinking and fucking to spend the minute necessary to suss out his part in the grand play.

In the meantime, Jules was content with watching from her front-row seat, smirk on her face as she let the violence continue on.

Air was forced from Tobias’s lungs with every punch that hit like a sledgehammer. His body, fragile and painfully mortal thing it was, crumpled beneath Luke’s strength and force. There was no time for retaliation. Every throw of a punch, or thrust of his knee landed with a devastating weight unlike anything he had ever faced before. This wasn’t a fight for the world or humanity, but anger and humiliation. It was personal, stripping them both raw, down to the men they were beneath it all, a protector and a predator.

Tobias tried to remain on his feet, tried to lift his arms to shield his face in a defensive stance, but it meant little against someone with strength he could not match. The last punch reverberated through his skull like a gong, spots flooded his vision, ears ringing so violently that he barely could make out Luke’s words or Bellamy’s screams. His strength gave and he fell to his knees. His body careened forward, barely catching himself with splayed hands against blood soaked tile, elbows nearly buckling beneath the weight. Sharp, wet coughs filled the heavy silence of the room and stained his lips crimson. The tip of his tongue ran along his lips, tasting the iron before spitting it out at Luke’s feet.

Whatever part of Tobias had wanted the satisfaction of feeling Luke’s body break beneath his bare hands subsided, replaced with a calmer, more calculated fury that demanded fear, not blood. His left hand extended out beside him and every piece of metal in the room began to stir: screws, bolts, warped legs from broken chairs, and even the handle from the door. He lifted his head, blinking through the blood that dripped into his eyes to meet Luke’s gaze as he towered over him. "Know that you got this far… Because I let you."

Luke stood over Tobias breathing hard through blood and adrenaline, chest heaving beneath the ruined fabric of his shirt while the conference room sagged around them in pieces. The metallic taste in his mouth thickened every time he swallowed. His knuckles ached from the force of repeated impacts, skin split across the joints and smeared red from Tobias’s blood. He watched Tobias struggle on the floor with something viciously satisfied curling low in his ribs, watched the man cough crimson across the tile and still try to drag himself upright. The sight should have softened something in him, maybe once it would have, but years of violence had trained that instinct out of him until another person’s suffering only sharpened his focus.

Then the metal started moving. At first it was subtle. A tremor beneath scattered debris. The groan of twisted chair legs dragging across marble. Luke’s eyes flicked downward just as screws and bolts rattled violently against the floor before launching upward in a storm of silver. Instinct hit him hard enough that his muscles tensed before Tobias even lifted his hand fully, battle-honed reflexes recognizing danger faster than thought ever could.

"Tobias—"

His hand swept through the air, fingers splayed open. All the metal beneath his control slammed into Luke, curling around his wrists and neck before lifting him up until he hovered a foot off the ground. As Tobias’s fingers curled into the palm of his hand, the metal tendrils constricted like a snake, cutting off Luke’s airways until he gasped for air. That was where he held him, in that terrifying limbo between life and death, as his other hand pushed off the ground, rocking his weight backwards until it rested on bent knees. He waited, waited for the anger to be replaced with fear, and waited for the rigid, battle-hardened soldier to kick and flail, desperate for release.

The metal slammed into him before he’d finished the word. Steel crushed around his wrists with bone-jarring force and another length wrapped violently around his throat, snapping his head backward hard enough to make the room blur. Luke’s boots left the ground instantly. Air vanished from his lungs beneath the constriction while the metal lifted him a foot above the shattered conference room floor like he weighed nothing at all. His fingers clawed reflexively at the restraints around his neck, tendons standing sharp beneath bloodstreaked skin as pressure tightened harder and harder against his windpipe.

The room narrowed into pain and sound. Metal groaned around him while blood rushed hot through his ears in thick thunderous pulses. Tobias’s face swam before him through fractured vision, bruised and bloodied and horribly calm as he held Luke there between breaths. Luke felt the instinctive surge to fight against it, to rip free, to survive, but something uglier surfaced beneath it too… humiliation. He had spent his whole life mastering his body until it became a weapon sharp enough to rival gods, and now Tobias held him helpless with barely a movement of his hand.

Still, Luke refused to panic. His body strained hard enough that muscle trembled beneath the bindings, but he never kicked wildly or begged or broke eye contact. Blood slipped from his broken nose and ran warm over his lips while his chest fought desperately for oxygen against the crushing pressure at his throat. Tobias wanted fear from him. Luke saw that plainly in the cold steadiness of his gaze, in the measured cruelty of how long he held him there. That understanding settled heavily inside Luke because he recognized it immediately; he had worn that same look himself only minutes earlier.

It was only then that Tobias let the metal around Luke’s neck loosen and fall to the ground with a heavy thud. He pressed his shoulder against the wall, using it to brace himself as he stumbled to his feet, blood pooling like ichor between his fingers that gripped at his side. He slowly lowered Luke back down to the ground, the metal shackles still holding him in place as Tobias took an uneasy step forward to meet him face to face one final time. "I know what I am," he spoke calmly and measured through a jaw that didn’t hinge quite right and the searing pain that coursed through his body. "I’m the son of a monster. You’d do well to remember that."

Then as if an invisible ripcord tethered around Luke was pulled taught, he was yanked backwards with startling force, launched through the window, and plunged down to the bottom of the pool where the metal rooted itself into the concrete.

When the pressure finally loosened, air tore violently back into Luke’s lungs in ragged gasps. He doubled slightly against the restraints before forcing himself upright again, dragging breath back under control while Tobias stumbled toward him through blood and pain. Luke listened silently as Tobias spoke about monsters and fathers and power, blue eyes fixed hard on the man standing before him. There was no smugness left in Luke now, no grin cutting across bruised features. Only exhaustion and something tauter underneath it, something dangerously close to recognition. For the first time since Tobias burst into the room, Luke saw something in the other man that felt horribly familiar. Calm fury. Controlled violence. The same cold certainty he had spent his entire life watching in his father’s eyes.

Tobias’s words scraped across him harder than the metal did. I’m the son of a monster. Luke stared at him through watering eyes and swelling bruises while blood ran warm over his lips and chin. Somewhere beneath the choking pressure, something bitter and exhausted almost laughed at the irony of it all. Of course Tobias understood monsters. Of course the only person in the room who looked at Luke with genuine hatred would also be the one person capable of recognizing exactly what had been made out of him. When Tobias launched him backward through the glass, Luke didn’t fight the pull.

Tobias’s free hand pushed off the wall beside him, slowly turning to find an audience of faces staring back at him in all manners of shock and horror and anything in between. He couldn’t meet any of their eyes, especially not Bellamy’s, his gaze instead fixing on some intangible space beyond them. "He has five minutes before he drowns—three given his elevated heart rate… if anyone cares." He moved toward the doorway, doing his best to weave through the lingering onlookers without covering them in blood. Each step was pained and uneasy, leaving a trail of crimson in his wake like a fucked up bread crumb trail.

When he stepped out into the hall he was met with Alfred's wide eyes assessing every injury not like someone scared, but a caretaker concerned. Before he could speak, Tobias held up bloodsoaked fingers and shook his head. "I’m going to the infirmary," he reassured him. Then trudged down the hall and disappeared into the elevator before anyone could try and stop him.

Myla’s hold on Bellamy eased after the window shattered and Luke disappeared beneath the surface of the pool. There was a silence that seized everyone who stood along the edges of the destroyed conference room and hall. No one breathed. No one moved. The only sound that cut through the quiet was the whistle of wind through the broken window and the choppy waves that slapped against the side of the pool and splashed over the edge. Perhaps it was cold and insensitive, but Myla didn’t rush to Luke’s aid… Afterall, what could she do? Plus, from where she was standing, and what she heard, he was lucky that Tobias didn’t kill him. If it had been her in Bellamy’s place… She didn’t imagine Theo would be so kind.

It was only when everyone remembered to breathe that her hand shifted to rest upon Bellamy’s back, feeling the tremors rattling her bones and coursing through her body. "Come on," she whispered quietly before guiding the girl out of the room. She slowed as she passed Alfred, sparing him a strained, sympathetic smile that shared more than words could. He didn’t say anything in response, just held out the tablet for her to take and gave her a small nod.

Bellamy stood frozen while the last ripples spread across the pool below. The cool air spilling through the broken glass brushed against her face and lifted strands of hair from her shoulders, but she barely felt it. Her eyes followed Tobias instead, traced the set of his shoulders, the blood slipping steadily from his hand and side, the way every step looked dragged through pain. He never looked back at her. Not once. The realization slid into her chest with a sharpness that stole her breath, small and sudden and cruel in the way tiny wounds often were.

The thought rooted itself immediately and spread before she could stop it. She should have gotten away. She should have said something sooner, should have fought harder, should have done something besides stand there while Tobias bled for her again. The feeling settled low in her stomach, dense and heavy as wet concrete, pressing beneath her ribs until even breathing felt tight. She had spent the last two days watching people throw themselves into the path of hurt on her behalf; her parents, Tobias in the woods, Imogen in that chair, and now this. Bellamy's fingers curled hard into the sleeves hanging over her hands while guilt climbed over her shoulders and wrapped around the back of her neck like a weight she couldn't shrug off.

She moved when Myla guided her, feet carrying her forward automatically while her mind stayed somewhere down the corridor after Tobias. The world around her felt muffled, voices and movement blurring into soft static at the edges of her hearing. She kept glancing toward the lift doors, toward the trail of blood left behind across the floor, stomach rolling harder every time she remembered the sound of his fist colliding with bone or the way he had braced himself against the wall because standing alone had become difficult.

The pool swallowed Luke in a violent burst of blue and white. Water crashed over his body while the metal rooted itself into the concrete beneath him, locking him flat against the bottom like prey pinned beneath a hunter’s boot. Sunlight fractured overhead in trembling ribbons, scattering gold across the water while bubbles drifted slowly from his mouth toward the surface. He stared upward through the rippling distortion and waited for fear to arrive. It never did. Instead something softer settled into him, heavy and quiet and dangerously close to relief.

The sunlight above him became the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. He was ten years old again, standing behind Captain America while crowds stretched endlessly ahead waving flags and signs beneath a summer sky. His father stood tall at the edge of the water, broad shoulders wrapped in red white and blue while his voice rolled across the crowd speaking about peace, unity, freedom. Luke remembered looking up at the back of him and knowing even then that every word was hollow. The bruise across Luke’s back pulsed warmly beneath his dress shirt where his father had struck him that morning, the skin swollen between his shoulder blades in the exact shape of a hand.

Steve Rogers turned slightly as applause thundered around them. Sunlight caught in blond hair that looked almost gold beneath the sky, and his blue eyes cut down toward Luke with a sharpness that made his stomach knot instantly. There was no warmth there. No pride. Only expectation wrapped so tightly around disappointment that the two had become indistinguishable from one another. Luke remembered hating him in that moment with a purity so complete it frightened him more than bruises ever had.

The memory shifted beneath the water like light bending through glass. Suddenly the pool was alive with laughter instead of speeches and cameras, and Luke’s chest ached harder at the softness of it than it ever had from Tobias’s fists. It was the pool at the Academy, it was a weekend. Magni sat broad-shouldered at the edge of the water with his head thrown back laughing while Tobias splashed Thomas hard enough to earn himself a shove straight into the deep end. Imogen leaned against Luke’s side with easy warmth, her hip brushing his own while sunlight danced across her pale hair and soft smile. Someone said something ridiculous, probably Magni, and Tobias barked out this startled laugh that made Thomas nearly collapse into the pool grinning.

Luke wanted to stay there forever. He wanted that moment frozen untouched before missions and blood and betrayal poisoned all of it beyond recognition. But the memory curdled suddenly into pain, and he was younger again, sprawled across the floor with blood filling his mouth while his father towered over him. Steve’s blond hair hung damp against his forehead from training, blue eyes burning with cold fury as he grabbed Luke by the jaw and forced him to look up at him. "You don’t get a choice," his father spat, and that was the exact moment something inside Luke finally split apart. That was when he buried every soft thing he loved so deeply inside himself that eventually he forgot they were still alive at all.

The water pressed colder around him now. His lungs burned sharply beneath his ribs while bubbles slipped from parted lips and floated lazily toward the shimmering surface overhead. Luke watched the sunlight ripple above him and thought distantly that maybe Tobias should let him drown. He was so tired of hurting the only people he had ever loved just because a frightened little boy still lived somewhere inside him obeying his father’s voice. His eyes slipped shut beneath the water while that old summer memory drifted farther and farther away.

The sound of splashing water seemed distant, though the pained ripping of metal from flesh was far more intimate. It only took a moment, as Luke was pulled out of the metal lashes. There was little care or safety in the rescue, the rise to the surface abrupt. In one fluid motion, Luke’s body was vaulted over the edge of the pool and skidded along the concrete. A large figure pulled itself out of the pool, crawling beside the half-drowned man to check for breathing. At the signs of spluttered gasps, Magni rose to his feet beside his old friend. He looked down on him with a conflicted furrow to his brow. He had no jest, no mirth, nor any anger in his expression. He didn’t have any words, water dripping from the new clothes that his lover had bought for him. Magni lingered, staring down at Luke, waiting to ensure his friend would live.

Were they friends? After that morning, it was clear that the son of Steve Rogers had changed since their time at the academy. He was practically a different person, a doppelganger or clone that was uncanny to watch. Or maybe… this was who the man had been the entire time. He didn’t know what could set Tobias that far. He had only ever seen him go all out to protect himself or a friend in training. To leave Luke drowning in the bottom of the pool… what had Luke done to the others? Jim’s biting words were harsh, but they were more akin to the bluster of a child. He wished he could see into his head, to know what hollowed out his friend until he was nothing more than a twisted nightmare of the memory of a friend. Was the weight of expectation so great that it twisted Luke into this broken shape? In the end, it didn’t matter. For the sake of the man he had been, Magni pulled him free. For the sake of the man he could be, Magni leaned over and held out a hand to help Luke up.

Luke stayed on his hands and knees for a long moment, shoulders heaving violently while water poured from his mouth in sharp coughing fits that burned all the way down into his lungs. Chlorine stung his nose alongside the copper taste of blood, both scents clinging thickly to the back of his throat while his soaked shirt plastered itself cold against his skin. His bruised fingers dug against the wet concrete beneath him as he forced air back into aching lungs one ragged breath at a time. Then he turned his head slightly and saw Magni standing there above him, broad and dripping pool water beneath the sunlight. For one terrible heartbeat, Luke didn’t see the man before him now, but the younger version instead, bright-eyed, warm laughter spilling easily from him, untouched by betrayal or grief.

Something twisted hard beneath Luke’s ribs. He should have let me drown.

The thought came softly, exhausted and frightened in a voice that belonged to the child he used to be instead of the weapon he had become. He’ll regret this. I don’t have a choice. Luke swallowed hard against the ache rising into his throat and pushed himself shakily to his feet before Magni could see too much of what was breaking across his face. He turned away quickly, taking several uneven steps toward the far exit while water dripped steadily from the hem of his ruined white shirt, blood blooming faintly through the soaked fabric near his ribs and collar. He paused only once, shoulders tight and breathing rough, before speaking without looking back.

"...Thank you." Then he kept walking.

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